CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(l\Aonographs) 


ICI\AH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographles) 


M 


Canadian  Inathuta  for  HiMorleal  MIcraraproductioni  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproducllana  hiatoriquaa 


1995 


I 


T 


1^ 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  technique  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  l}est  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibiiographlcally  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  Images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


0 


D 
D 
D 


D 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couvetture  de  couleur 


I     I  Covers  damaged  / 

' — '  Couverture  endommagte 

I     I  Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 

' — '  Ccuverture  restaur^  et/ou  pelliculee 

I     I  Cover  title  missing /Le  litre  de  couverture  manque 

I     I  Coloured  maps/ Cartes  gSographiques  en  couleur 

n^  Coloured  Ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 

'^'-'  Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

I     I  Coloured  plates  and/or  Illustrations  / 

' — '  Planches  et/ou  lllustratnns  en  couleur 


Bound  witli  other  material  / 
Reii^  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  edltk>n  available  / 
Seule  MItlon  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  Interior  margin  /  La  reliure  senie  peut 
causer  de  I'ombrs  ou  de  la  distorslon  le  long  de 
la  marge  IntMeure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoralkxis  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  timing  /  II  se  peut  que  citaines 
pages  blanches  ajouties  kxs  d'une  restawauon 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  kxsque  cela  itait 
possible,  ees  pages  n'cnt  pas  M  filnnAes. 


L'Institut  a  mlcroflim6  le  meliieur  examplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
et6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire  qui  sont  peut-6tre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  blbli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  Image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modifications  dans  la  m6th- 
ode  normale  de  filmage  sont  indlqu^s  cl-dessous. 

I     I     Cotoured  pages/ Pages  de  couleur 

I     I      Pages  damaged/ Pages endomman^es 

I     I      Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
' — '     Pages  re$taur«es  et/ou  pellk:ul«es 

r^     Pages  discotoured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
' — '      Pages  d«cok)r6es,tachet«esoupiquSes 

I     I      Pages  detached/ Pages  dAtachfes 

r~l»     Showthrough/ Transparence 

pTf     Quality  of  print  varies  / 

^^     Quality  Inigaie  de  I'Impresston 

I     I      Includes  supplementary  material  / 
' —      Comprenddu  materiel  supplSmentaIre 

I  I  Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  returned  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image  /  Les  pages 
totalement  ou  partiellement  obscurcles  par  un 
feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure,  etc.,  ont  M  fllmees 
i  nouveau  de  fafon  k  obtenir  la  mellleure 
image  possible. 

I  I  Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
' — '  discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the 
best  possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant 
ayant  des  colorations  variable:  ou  des  ddcoi- 
oratk)ns  sont  film^es  deux  fois  afin  d'otMenir  la 
meliieur  Image  possible. 


D 


Addttional  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppWmentaires: 


Thii  itam  n  filmad  at  the  raduction  ratio  dlackad  iMlow/ 

Ca  docufflant  ait  lilmt  su  tauK  da  rMuction  indlqua  ei-dasioia. 


10X 

MX 

18X 

ax 

»X 

3DX 

J 

~ 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

2gX 

32X 

Th*  copy  filmtd  h«ri  hai  b«an  raproduead  thank* 
to  tha  ganaroaitv  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  lUmt  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
gtntroiit*  da: 

Blbllotheque  nationals  du  Canada 


Tha  ifnaga*  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  ban  quality 
posaibia  eontidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  liaoping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacif icationa. 


Lat  Imagaa  luivantaa  ont  M  raproduitai  avac  la 
plua  grand  (oin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  I'aiiamplaira  film*,  at  an 
conf  ormii*  avac  laa  eonditiona  du  central  da 
tilmaga. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  covara  ara  fllmod 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
lion,  or  tha  bacli  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
firat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
aion,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impraaaion. 


Laa  axamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  eouvartura  an 
papiar  aat  imprimia  (ont  film*!  an  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  (oil  par  la 
darniAra  paga  qui  compona  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration,  (Oil  par  la  aacond 
plat,  aalon  ia  eaa.  Tou(  lac  auira(  axamplairaa 
originaux  (oni  fllmto  an  commanfani  par  la 
promiira  paga  qui  eomporta  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  damitra  paga  qui  eomporta  una  laila 
amprainta. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
ahall  contain  tha  aymbol  — ^  Imaaning  "CON- 
'DNUED").  or  tha  aymbol  ▼  Imaaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appliaa. 


Un  daa  aymbolaa  auivanta  apparaltra  (ur  la 
darniAra  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha,  (alon  la 
cac  la  aymbolo  —^  (ignifia  "A  SUiVRE",  la 
aymbola  ▼  (ignifia  "FIN". 


Mapa,  plataa,  charta.  ate,  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratioa.  Thoc  too  larga  to  ba 
aniiroly  includad  in  ona  axpoaur*  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  iaft  hand  eornar,  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framaa  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  illuatrata  tha 
mathod: 


Laa  cartaa,  planchaa,  tablaaux,  ate.,  pauvant  ttra 
filmto  A  daa  taux  da  raduction  difftrania. 
Lar(qua  la  documant  aat  trop  grand  pour  ttra 
raproduit  an  un  aaul  clieh*.  il  aat  film*  i  partir 
da  I'angia  auptriaur  gaucha,  da  gaueha  i  droita, 
at  da  haul  an  baa,  an  pronant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  nacaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammaa  auivanta 
illuatrant  la  mMhoda. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MIOOCOrY   aiSOUITION  TIST  CHAtT 

(ANSI  oiHJ  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  3) 


/APPLIED    IM/1GE      Inc 

1653  East   Main   StfMt 

Rochailer.   New  York         14609       USA 

(716)  *a2-030O-  Phon« 

(716)   2K-  5989  -  Fo« 


THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


THE  CHEERFUL 
BLACKGUARD 


By 
ROGER  POCOCK 

AtHktrtf 
tlHTHBOPBN.  CArruNtOr  ADVENTVRB.ETC, 


Good  people,  «ince  God  alone  can  make  you  wise 

and  kind,  the  jester's  province  is 

merely  to  amuse  you 


INDIANAPOUS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRnx  COMPANY 

PUBUSHERS 


(734- 


CorruGHT  1915 
Tmi  Bobbs-Mekrill  CourAur 


•AMmWOffTH  4  CO. 

•oonmom  MD  nnTm 

MraOKLVN.  N,  V. 


880476 


CONTENTS 

I  The  Glamour  of  Yooth ^1 

II  The  Aoe  of  Knighthood jg 

in  The  Swing  of  Events _    jgj 

IV  The  Pawohs  OF  War j4j 

V    TheWuMPS jjj 

^'  »"' .'.".'  201 

VII  A  Ship  Withoitt  a  Rudder 22J 

VIII  Mr.  Raus 2W 

IX  The  Sacrifice 2jj 

X  The  Ordeal  BY  Torture 291 

XI  The  Soul  of  La  Mancha -  jji 

XII  Inipector  Buckie's  Narrativi 343 


\1 


THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


cock:  (^ 


I 


THE 
CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH 


T  JOSE  DE  LA  MANCHA  Y  O'BRIEN,  was 
1)  bom  on  the  ninth  day  of  November,  1865,  in 
Spain,  of  an  Irish  mother  and  a  Spanish  sire.  Ten 
years  later  my  parents  entered  the  service  of  God, 
my  father  from  a  battle-field,  my  mother  living  in 
a  convent. 

With  my  brother.  Don  Pedro,  the  Brat,  then  eight 
years  old,  I  was  sent  away  from  Spain  to  Tito,  a 
fat  Irish  aunt,  whose  highly  poisonous  husband. 
Uncle  Tito,  was  English,  and  lived  in  London. 
From  their  house,  when  he  was  old  enough,  I  took 
the  Brat  to  my  school  where  I  attended  to  his  mor- 
als with  a  small  strap.  I  had  been  busy  for  sev- 
eral terms  explaining  to  the  other  chaps  at  school 


a         THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

that  they  were  heretics  and  doomed  to  hell,  and  as 

my  8km  was  not  large  enough  to  hold  the  lickings 

they  supplied  me,  they  paid  the  balance  to  my  little 

brother.    He  spoke  as  yet  but  very  broken  English 

and  could  not  understand  why  he  should  share  with 

me  the  glories  of  an  early  martyrdom.    He  shunned 
me. 

Yet,  when  in  1883  I  went  to  iollege,  the  Brat  was 
not  content  to  be  left  alone.    Indeed  he  ran  from 
school,  and  when  I  next  heard  from  him.  was  in 
America,  where  he  had  gone  to  work  for  a  man 
called  Lane.    When  the  summer  vacation  left  me 
free.  Aunt  Tita  supplied  me  with  money  and  sent 
me  off  to  collect  my  Brat.    I  was  to  bring  him  home 
and  place  him  at  a  private  school  in  Oxford  where 
I  could  always  keep  him  out  of  nuschief.    Thus  I 
set  out,  determined  to  tear  the  Brat's  hide  off  over 
his  ears  when  I  caught  him.    Perhaps  he  expected 
as  much  and  was  ungrateful,  for  when  in  due  course 
I  arrived  in  Winnipeg—from  whence  his  letter  ap- 
peared to  have  been  posted—I  could  find  no  trace  of 
my  brother  or  of  any  n»n  caUed  Lane  in  Manitoba. 
There  the  search  (Aided  in  bitter  disappointment. 

■'  When  I  had  lost  my  brother,  with  nothing  left  in 
aU  the  world  to  love,  a  dog  adopted  me.  Rich 
M-^ed  was  named  after  a  Wscuit  box  containing 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH 


twenty-seven  distinct  species  of  biscuits.  You  will 
realize  that  a  dog  must  be  of  the  noblest  pedigree 
who  had  twenty-seven  quaiterings  on  his  coat  of 
arms  and  showed  unmistakable  descent  from  every 
possible  kind  of  thoroughbred  from  daschund  to 
great  Dane.  I  loved  him  dearly  and  was  consoled 
for  my  brother's  loss. 

Since  I  could  not  take  Brat  home,  and  would  not 
return  without  him,  I  had  no  use  for  the  remaining 
funds.  Most  of  the  cash  was  disposed  of  at  a  race- 
meeting  where  the  wrong  horses  won.  ITie  rest  of 
it  merely  dispersed. 

At  that  time,  a  laundress  pursued  me  with  a  bun- 
dle of  my  washing  and  a  bill  I  could  not  pay.  To 
dispose  of  this  poor  widow,  I  despatched  her  with  a 
note  to  the  Presbyterian  minister.  My  letter  ac- 
cused him  of  deserting  one  whom  he  had  sworn 
always  to  love  and  cherish.  Mrs.  Minister  appears 
to  have  been  morbid,  for  she  put  the  police  after 
me  for  attempting  to  levy  blackmail.  I  could  not 
safely  remain  in  Winnipeg. 

And  yet  I  had  not  then  the  means  for  flight  until 
I  thought  of  Tito's  dressing-case,  a  gift  from  His 
late  Catholic  Majesty  to  my  fat  uncle.  It  proved 
good  enough  to  pay  for  a  farewell  dinner,  at  which 
I  consulted  my  friends  on  the  idea  of  flight  from 


4        THE  r  2ERFUL  BLACKGUARD 
•dvce,  the  pol.ce  became  obnoxious.    I  fled  with  my 

A:t;::t::?.n:bb""'""'^-'"--- 

uoor  we  ieft  cabby  crowned  with  a  chanl,» 

hti"'"i:r""''T'"'*^"'''''^-^-oh:'s 
«r  if  ? '""' '"°''  *'■-  ♦»»»  -  could 

forth  to^nT  '"  K  """"^  ^''"^  ^'-'^  -d  I  set 
forth  to  find  my  brother.  We  had  no  place  to  go  to 

jnd  no  money,  so  we  did  not  get  ve^  far  M^^ 

I  fell  asleep  out  on  the  starlit  prairie 

wailmg  dose  bes.de  us.  a  wolf-howl.  but  for  its  hu 
-n  throb  a  thing  beyond  all  anguish  of  he  C' 
heartrend.ng  de«,lation  keening  star-high,  Ch^fS 

■nt  ecoe3  throbbed  on  the  hori^oaThehusLt 
a  the  m.ss.on  gave  tongue  in  answer,  the  tame  dogs 
bayed  m  distant  Winnioep     F^,  ^ 

Mixed  a«H  T  .  ,  ""'P*8^-  ^o"^  some  time  Rich 
M.xed  a^d  I  lay  l.stening,  while  above  us  the  star- 
blaze  drowned  in  depths  of  the  vast  sky 

ot  .^oses.    The  green  dawn  widened,  edged  at  thi 

%-l.ne  with  clear  topaz  light.    There,  ifthe  el^^ 

nc  a.r  of  the  Great  Plains,  life  was  aU  de«gl  " 

'- the  perfumed  ground  to  those  immnSes? 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  5 

aerial  splendor  heralding  the  sun.  I  had  never  felt 
80  well,  or  half  so  happy.  And  I  had  been  drunk. 
Is  the  reader  shocked?  Why?  If  we  poor  moths 
were  horrified  by  candles,  our  wings  would  not  get 
burned. 

Through  sleep  itself,  and  from  the  very  moment 
of  awaking,  I  was  disturbed  by  the  noise  of  the 
middle  night,  those  agonized  and  desolating  howls. 
Who  howled?  And  what  the  deuce  was  it  howl- 
ing about?  To  see  about  that  I  got  up,  stretching 
mysdf  and  feeling  rather  dizzy,  as  though  from 
running  in  circles.  Then  I  lurched  forward,  tripped 
and  sat  down  with  a  bang  on  a  grave  mound.  The 
place  was  full  of  graves  I 

And  as  I  fell  the  mournful  wailing  in  the  twilight 
changed  at  mid-howl  into  a  funny  chuckle.  Then  a 
soft  voice  said  to  me.  "So.  You  comel" 

I  looked  up,  and  saw  Rain. 

You  may  remember  Tennyson's  words  about  the 
Woman  you,  and  I,  and  all  true  men  have  loved: 

"w*  ^ '^''«'d  her,  ere  she  knew  my  heart. 
My  first,  last  love,  the  idol  of  my  youth 
The  darlmg  of  my  manhood,  and  alas 
Now  the  most  blessed  memory  of  mine  age." 

the  wilderness  has  always  been  to  me  a  visible 


C        THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

expression  of  that  great  Holy  Trinity,  of  Power, 
Love  and  Truth,  which  we  call  God. 

In  Rain,  the  glamour  of  God's  wilderness  had 
taken  human  form  as  a  red  Indian  girl  « 'th  youth's 
delicious  gr^  /ity  of  bearing,  the  childlike  purity  of 
the  unUinted  savage,  hale  strength,  athletic  grace 
and  eyes  derisive.  Sorrow  had  made  her  at  that 
time  aloof,  remote  from  the  world  I  lived  in  as  a 
Madonna  set  above  an  altar,  and  yet  her  smile 
seemed  to  make  fun  of  me.  I  looked  up  at  her  with 
reverence,  with  wonder,  and  if  I  loved,  the  love 
I  offered  to  her  was  sacred,  not  profane.  Yet  if  I 
seemed  to  worship,  she  would  ridicule,  so  I  had  to 
pretend  as  a  boy  does  to  a  girl.  "Oh,  don't  mind 
me,"  I  stuttered.  "Please  go  on  with  that  howl  I" 

"Boy-drunk-in-tbe-moming,"  she  answered.  "My 
dream,  he  say  you  come." 
"So  I  have  come,"  said  I. 
Years  afterward,  when  I  had  learned  her  lan- 
guage. Rain  told  me  in  Blackfoot  the  whole  story 
of  the  adventure,  which  led  her  to  that  meeting  with 
me  there  on  the  plains  at  dawn. 

She  was  a  Blackfoot,  of  the  Piegan  or  southern 
tribe,  which  settled  in  Montana,  and  her  father  was 
Brings-down-the-Sun,  a  war  chief  and  a  priest.  In 
the  winter  before  we  met,  the  Piegan  chiefs  came 


I  THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  y 

to  her  father'i  lodge.  "At  their  request,  he  opened 
the  sacred  bundle  of  the  Buffalo  Mystery,  whose  an- 
cient and  solemn  ritual  engaged  them  for  a  day  and 
a  night  in  prayer.  Afterward,  they  held  a  meeting 
of  the  council,  to  discuss  the  manifest  wasting  away 
of  the  bison  herds  on  which  the  people  depended  for 
their  food. 

For  years,  the  Stone-hearts  (white  men)  had  been 
slaughtering  bison  by  millions  for  their  hides,  leav- 
ing the  meat  to  rot  Now  the  last  herds  were  sur- 
rounded b  hungry  tribes,  and  the  end  was  in  sight 
when  the  people  must  die  of  famine.  So  the  chiefs 
sat  in  council 

Flat  Tail  had  been  told  by  his  dream  that  all  the 
buffaloes  were  hidden  in  a  cave.  Iron  Shirt  believed 
that  the  Stone-hearts  were  hiding  the  main  herd  in 
the  country  beyond  the  World-Spine  (the  Rocky 
Mountains) .  But  Brings-down-the-Sun  spoke  of  an 
Ojibway  from  the  far  East,  who  told  him  about  the 
Min-it-o-ba  or  Land  of  the  Great  Spirit  near  to  the 
lodge  ./here  the  Sun  God  lived,  from  whence  he 
rose  each  morning  to  cross  the  sky.  "I  am  going," 
he  told  the  council,  "to  this  Land  of  God,  and  there 
I  will  open  again  my  sacred  bundle.  I  will  speak  td 
the  Sun  Spirit  about  our  herds  of  bison,  and  how 
they  are  being  wasted  by  the  Stone-hearts.    I  will 


8        THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

pray  that  hearts  of  stone  may  be  changed  to  flesh 
and  blood  lest  all  the  people  die." 

So  taking  his  daughter,  Rain,  to  serve  him  in  the 
ritual.  Brings-down-the-Sun  set  out  from  their  home 
beside  the  World-Spine,  and  traveled  eastward  for 
a  thousand  miles,  crossing  the  plains  to  Manitoba, 
which  was  the  Land  of  God.  There  at  the  sunrise 
making  his  prayer,  he  died,  passing  the  threshold 
of  God's  house  into  the  presence. 

Rain  showed  me  the  hole  where  the  Stone-hearts 
had  buried  her  father.  The  ground  spirits  would 
catch  him  there,  so  she  had  torn  up  the  earth  and 
taken  out  the  body.  She  had  built  a  scaffold,  where 
now  her  dead  lay  robed  and  armed  in  majesty,  fac- 
ing the  sunrise.  She  had  shot  her  father's  horse 
so  that  its  ghost  might  carry  his  shadow  to  the  Sand 
Hills. 

And  afterward  she  had  prayed. 

"Oh,  great  Above-Medicine  Person,  Spirit  in  the 
Sun.  I  pray  to  you! 

"All  you  Above  Spirits  and  Under  Spirits  carry 
my  prayer  to  the  Sun! 

"And  all  you  holy  Animals,  -wiser  and  stronger 
than  I,  have  pity!  Pray  for  me. 

"I  have  made  srorifice  of  my  jewels,  and  my  long 


i 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  9 

braids  of  hair.  Great  Sun  God,  take  my  father's 
shadow  to  the  Sand  Hills,  that  he  may  be  with  our 
dead." 

The  Seven  Persons,  our  stars  of  the  Great  Bear, 
were  pointing  to  the  earth;  the  Lost  Children,  our 
Pleiades  were  sleepy  on  their  way  to  bed,  when  Rain 
felt  the  spirit  leaving  her  father's  body  to  ride  the 
Wolf  Trail,  the  milky  way  which  leads  to  the  here- 
after. 

And  there  was  Morning  Star.  "Dear  Morning 
Star,"  she  pleaded,  "don't  give  long  life  to  me,  for 
I  am  all  alone." 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  upturned  soil.  "Oh, 
mother,"  she  sobbed,  "I'm  all  alone,  an^  oh,  so 
frightened.  And  you,  dear  Beaver  Woman,  my 
Dream  Helper,  can't  you  send  me  help?  Oh,  send  a 
man  to  take  me  to  my  people." 

The  Piegan  camp  was  a  thousand  miles  away. 
What  chance  had  she  of  escaping  death  among  the 
hostile  tribes  between,  or  outrage  at  the  hands  of  the 
Stone-hearts  ? 

It  was  then  she  lifted  up  her  voice  in  the  Indian 
death-wail,  and  so  continued  mourning  until  I  came 
in  the  gray  of  dawn,  sent  by  her  secret  helper  in  an- 
swer to  her  prayer. 


lo   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

I  saw  the  rifled  grave,  the  scaffold  and  her  dead. 
"The  people,"  said  I,  "who  run  this  graveyard  will 
be  so  pleased  I" 

"You  think  so  ?  My  old  man,  he  seeks  the  M4n-it- 
ou,  but  the  Black  Robe,"  she  pointed  to  the  Mission 
of  St.  Boniface,  "the  sacred  man,  he  say  'The  King- 
of  God  is  within  you.'  So  my  old  man,"  this  with  a 
great  gesture  sweeping  toward  the  skies,  "he  eo 
seekl" 

Rain's  talk  wftS  a  compound  of  charm,  French 
half-breed  patois,  two  or  three  English  words,  and 
the  sign  language.  But,  as  we  Spaniards  have  it,  she 
was  sympdtka.  her  eyes,  her  smile,  expressing  all 
she  felt,  and  I  have  found  love  a  great  interpreter. 

Her  blanket,  fallen  wide  apart,  disclosed  a  beauti- 
ful tunic  of  white  antelope  skin,  set  with  the  teeth 
of  elk.  which  tinkled  softly. 

"You  little  duck!"  I  whispered.  That  was  pro- 
fane love,  but  it  really  couldn't  be  helped. 

"K'yal"  She  drew  back,  folding  the  blanket 
across  her  breast.  "Boy-drunk-in-the-moming,  you 
m6tis.  es?" 

"Half-breed!"  said  I,  not  at  all  pleased.  "No. 
Espanol." 

"Whyyouipome?" 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  n 

"Well,  you  see,  my  little  brother.  Brat,  was  at 
school." 

"All  same  mission  ?" 

"Yes,  a  place  called  Eton,  mission  school  for  half- 
breeds.  He  ran  away  to  be  a  pirate,  and  I  ran  after 
him  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief." 

"Meescheef  ?   In.  understand.    You  catchum  V 

"No,  he's  with  a  man  called  Shifty  Lane." 

"Bad  Mouth,  I  know  him.  He  dog-faced  man." 
She  darted  forked  fingers  from  her  mouth,  the  sign 
of  snake  tongue,  meaning  that  Lane  was  a  liar. 

"You  come,"  she  pleaded,  "I  take  you  to  Dog- 
Face  Lane.   My  dream,  he  say  I  take  you." 

"That's  awfully  decent  of  you." 

Day  filled  the  sky,  but  as  yet  there  was  neither 
sunlight  nor  shadow,  only  a  .clear  fine  radiance  full 
of  hushed  fussiness  of  birds,  a  growing  blaze  pf 
color  from  goldenrod  and  prairie  sunflower,  and 
fresh  wild  perfume. 

Some  little  devil  possessed  me  at  that  moment,  for 
I  flung  my  arms  about  the  girl,  only  to  find  I  held  an 
empty  blanket,  while  at  arms'  length  the  jolly  little 
beggar  stood  flushed  and  panting,  while  she  mocked 
me.  Had  I  plenty  scalps?  Was  my  lodge  red  with 
meat?   Howmany  horses  had  I  to  buy  Rain?   "Oh, 


12   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Little-boy-drunk-in-the-moming.     the     quick     fox 
catchum  trap!" 

Ah,  me!  I  never  could  withhold  the  tribute  due  to 
women,  which  every  citizen  must  pay  to  her  sover- 
eign power.  So  long  I  pleaded  mercy  that  the  sun 
burned  the  sky-line,  and  the  whole  east  was  one  vast 
glory  before  she  would  consent  to  be  my  mother. 
A  girl  who  chaflfs  is  irresistible. 

"Swear!"  she  said.  "You  touch  me,  you  go  hell 
plenty  quick." 

"I  swear  I  love  you." 

"You  love  as  the  wind,  eh  ?    Too  many." 

"I'm  frightfully  nice  when  I'm  kissed." 

"Maybe  so.    Now  you  catchum  horse." 

My  horse?    I  had  no  horse. 

"You  poor?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  all  I've  got,"  I  told  her. 

"S'pose,"  said  Rain  gaily,  "I  make  'um  I-dian 
man?" 

"What!  You'll  make  me  an  Indian?  Oh,  what  a 
lark!  Come  on!" 

She  led  me  through  an  aspen  grove,  all  tremulous 
green  and  silver,  and  in  her  little  teepee,  Rich  Mixed 
and  I  had  breakfast.  Then  she  left  us  to  watch  a 
copper  pot  of  herbs  which  simmered  on  the  fire,  and 
slid  away  to  her  father's  burial  scaffold.     There, 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  13 

with  some  quaint  apology  to  the  Sun  God,  she  took 
back  her  braids  of  hair  and  sacrificed  instead  the 
tip  of  her  left  little  finger.  When  she  returned  to 
the  teepee,  she  showed  me  her  bandaged  hand,  and 
said  she  had  cut  her  finger,  but  at  the  time  I  felt 
more  interested  in  my  cigarette,  the  last.  Then, 
while  I  sat  with  a  shaving  mirror  before  me,  she 
wove  hfr  braids  of  hair  into  my  black  thatch,  so 
that  the  long  plaits  came  down  in  front  of  my  shoul- 
ders almost  to  the  waist.  I  was  delighted,  especially 
when  she  set  at  the  back  of  my  head  one  straight-up 
eagle  plume. 

My  dress  suit,  which  last  night  had  astonished 
Winnipeg,  seemed  no  longer  congruous.  Rain  bade 
me  take  it  off,  showing  me  the  juice  from  her  pot 
of  herbs,  also  a  breech  clout,  at  which  I  shied  a 
little.  Still  it  was  not  long  before  I  stripped,  to 
play  at  red  Indians  with  the  brown  juice  and  the 
clout,  until  Rain  came  back  to  see.  She  opened  a 
trunk  of  parfleche  (arrow-proof  hide)  to  show  me 
her  father's  clothes,  then  squatting  by  the  fire  she 
burned  sweet  grass  for  incense  to  cleanse  us  both. 

To  me,  the  dressing-up  was  a  joke;  to  'ler,  a 
sacred  rite,  the  putting  on  of  manliness  and  non'or. 
With  each  new  garment,  she  recited  prayers:  as  I 
put  on  the  buckskin  leggings  and  war-shirt,  with 


14   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

their  delicious  perfume  of  wood  smoke,  the  par- 
fleche-soled  mocpasins,  from  which  the  Blackfoot 
nation  takes  its  name,  and  the  broad  belt  studded 
with  brass  carpet  tacks.  Then  she  gave  me  a  painted 
robe  of  buffalo  cow-skin,  and  showed  me  how  to 
carry  myself  with  the  medicine-iron,  a  .45-70  Win- 
chester. 

Perhaps  I  should  mention  that  Rich  Mixed  flew 
■at  and  bit  this  Indian,  before  he  realized  that  the 
person  inside  was  me.  But  I  had  never  been  so 
pleased. 

Let   me   confess   most   humbly   to    an   unusual 
strength  and  grace  of  body,  the  carriage  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  a  most  lamentable  face:  the  pinched 
forehead  and  strong  features  of  an  Indian,  the 
pointed  ears,  the  devilish  eyes  and  brows,  and  wide 
flexible  mouth  of  a  faun.    In  civilized  clothing,  I 
had  been  grotesque;  but  there  was  mystery  in  the 
Indian  dress,  which  made  me  for  the  first  time  real 
and  natural.    I  had  always  a  passionate  sick  crav- 
ing for  all  things  beautiful,  a  fierce  delight  in  color, 
line,  proportion,  harmony,  and  now  with  the  change 
of  dress  was  no  longer  hideous.    I  had  come  to  my 
own,  and  while  Rain  struck  camp,  ran  yelling  with 
delight  to  round  up  her  herd  of  ponies. 
At  this  point,  I  should  pause  to  be  sententious 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH 


IS 


with  sentimental  comment  on  all  the  blessings  I  had 
left  behind  me : 

Item.  My  worthy  aunt,  damp  with  many  tears,  but 
much  relieved.  She  had  hopefully  predicted  my  un- 
timely end. 

Item.  My  pernicious  uncle,  who  in  due  time  ap- 
peared before  a  judge  in  Chambers  asking  leave  to 
presume  my  brother's  death  and  mine,  so  that  his 
wife  might  have  our  heritage. 

Item.  My  prospects.  Mine  was  the  only  kind  of 
education  which  can  be  guaranteed  to  turn  out 
drunken  wasters. 

Item.  Winnipeg.  This  tity  was  supported  a'  the 
time  by  the  single  industry  of  cheating  in  real  estate. 
I  had  been  offered  employment  as  a  cheat. 

Item.  The  House  of  the  Red  Lamp,  where  my 
guests  of  the  night  before  awaited  me. 


Any  reader  who  hates  geography  had  better  skip 
this  passage.  It  is  a  dull  subject,  only  intro- 
duced when  the  writer  wants  to  show  off.  That 
should  be  enough  to  choke  off  the  skipping  reader, 
and  so  I  may  safely  divulge  to  the  gentle  reader 
that  I  allude  to  the  geography  of  love. 


i6   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Rain  led  be  along  the  boundary  trail,  which  fol- 
lows the  main  divide  between  the  land  of  boyhood 
and  the  domain  of  manhood.    It  is  a  narrow  trail, 
no  wider  than  a  tight  rope,  so  we  fell  off  on  both 
sides.    Rain's  adopted  son  was  too  old,  you  see,  for 
motherly  caresses,  too  young  for  the  other  kind. 
And  Rain  herself  set  me  a  bad  example.    She  never 
could  hit  the  motherly  attitude  without  exaggerat- 
ing, but  was  usually  about  a  hundred  years  old 
before  breakfast,  and  lapsed  to  five  at  the  first  cup 
of  coffee.    Then  I  would  waste  time  being  her  affec- 
tionate infant  son  when  it  was  my  manly  duty  to' 
murder  a  rabbit  for  supper.    I  was  never  traceable 
of  a  frosty  morning,  when  mother  sent  me  off  to 
my  bath  in  an  ice-filled  slough.    That  daily  bathing 
in  all  weathers  is  a  most  gruesome  habit  of  the 
Blackfeet,  whereas  I  like  being  warm.    An  adopted 
Child,  too,  ought  not  to  cuddle  mother  while  she  is 
cooking,  yet  when  she  clouted  me,  I  would  take 
offense.    And  how  could  Rain  howl  of  an  evening 
for  her  poor  father,  while  I  sang  ribald  songs,  such 
as  "Obediah  I  Obediah  I  Oh,  be  damned  I" 

I  fancied  myself  as  an  Indian  warrior,  and  ex- 
pected Rain  to  admire  me  in  the  part.  Play  up?  Of 
course  I  did.  Had  I  been  rigid  English,  forcing  the 
world  to  fit  me,  too  proud  to  make  a  fool  of  my- 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  17 

self,  too  austere  to  see  the  fun,  but  I  am  not.  I  am 
human,  Spaniard  with  a  touch  of  Irish,  fluid  to  fit 
my  surroundings.  I  riotously  overplayed  so  wild  a 
burlesque  redskin  that  Rain  would  laugh,  ache,  sob 
and  have  hysterics. 

We  played  at  the  hand  talk,  until  we  could  con- 
verse. We  played  at  the  Blackfoot  language,  until 
I  understood  when  she  didn't  gabble.  I  learned 
my  roping,  packing,  tracking  and  sign  quicker  than 
she  could  teach  me.  Yet  what  was  the  use  of  Rain 
playing  the  teacher,  when  her  pupil  would  chase  her 
round  the  camp-fire,  then  rumple  her  with  infant 
hugs  and  kisses  as  a  reward  for  having  been  too 
good.  In  vain,  she  reminded  me  of  my  oath  that 
I  would  go  to  hell  if  ever  again  I  touched  her. 

"Me  Iiijvn  now,"  said  I.  "White  man's  hell  too 
full:  !io  room  for  Injun." 

She  could  not  teach  mc  the  craft  of  warriors,  and 
my  ideas  of  finding  water  led  always  to  dry  camps. 
I  liked  a  nice  big  Are  in  the  evening,  and  by  day 
delighted  in  riding  along  the  sky-line  firing  off  my 
gun— in  that  land  the  Crees,  Dakotas,  Grosventres 
and  Absarokas  collected  scalps  as  you  do  postage 
stamps. 

My  notion  of  hunting  was  to  ride  down  wind  and 
miss  the  game  on  the  wing,  which  suited  the  antelope 


t   1 


i8   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

•nd  the  j»dc  rabbit.  As  to  the  prairie  chickeos  and 
dudes,  they  sat  out  my  rifle  shooting  in  perfect 
confidence  at  no  risk  whatever.  Even  before  I 
fired  my  last  cartridge,  Rain  was  obliged  to  add  my 
work  to  her  own,  and  had  she  not  snared  ground 
game,  we  should  have  starved  to  death.  Her  reli- 
gion forbade  the  eating  of  fish  and  ground  game,  so 
in  her  most  pious  moods  I  ate  for  both.  And  since 
I  was  neither  of  use  nor  ornament,  Rain  mothered 
me.  Mothering  is  the  play  of  girls,  the  life  of 
women.  Rain  enjoyed  me,  too,  as  a  comic  relief  to 
life. 

!  I  would  have  ycu  understand  that  we  were  boy 
and  girl  together,  not  man  and  woman.  We  played 
at  love  as  one  of  many  games,  but  lived  apart.  We 
played  at  mother  and  son,  teacher  and  pupil,  but  not 
at  husband  and  wife.  I  thought  my  honor  must 
be  a  thing  heroic,  sacred,  absolute,  like  a  great 
fortress,  while  Rain  trusted  me. 

A  gentleman,  I  suppose,  is  one  who  expects  much 
of  himself,  little  of  others.  He  is  liable  to  be  dis- 
appointed with  himself  if  ever  he  betrays  a  woman's 
trust,  fails  to  live  by  his  own  resources  and  oppor- 
tunities, or  marries  for  money,  or  finds  himself  kept 
by  a  woman.  Yet  he  may  engage  to  be  a  woman's 
servant,  be  she  queen  or  peasani,  and  fight  for  her 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  19 

defense  without  loss  of  honor.  I  was  content  for 
the  time  to  be  Rain's  servant  while  she  was  in  danger. 
And  afterward?  Boys  do  not  worry  about  after- 
ward. 

From  the  Red  River  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the 
Canadian  Plains  form  three  steps,  the  lower  or  Man- 
itoban,  the  middle  or  Saskatchewan,  and  the  upper 
or  Albertan,  in  all  about  one  thousand  miles  across. 
At  the  time  of  our  journey,  these  lay  in  almost  un- 
broken solitude.  In  many  districts,  the  bison  skulls 
lay  like  the  white  tombstones  of  a  graveyard,  reach- 
ing in  all  directions  beyond  the  sky-line.  The  herds 
were  gone,  the  hunters  had  followed,  and  the  land 
lay  void,  a  desolation  such  as  our  world  has  never 
known  and  never  may  again. 

Rain  steered  us  clear  of  the  few  and  scattered 
homes  of  frontiersmen,  wide  of  the  .tamp  grounds 
used  by  possibly  hostile  savages,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  tenth  week,  led  me  to  the  high  western  scarp  of 
the  Cypress  Hills. 

Beneath  us  the  grass,  with  many  i.  tawny  ridge 
and  faint  blue  vale,  reached  away  into  golden  haze, 
and  like  a  cloud  belt  far  above  soared  the  gray 
World-Spine,  streaked  and  flecked  with  snow.  Yon- 
der, beside  the  Rockies,  lived  her  people.  Here 
at  our  feet  was  the  Writing-    i-Stone  by  Milk 


TO   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

River,  where  my  young  brother  worked  for  Shitty 
Lane. 

For  that  day's  rations  we  chewed  rabbit  skins, 
and  at  sundown  came  to  Lane's  trading  post,  ex- 
pecting after  we  made  camp  to  barter  for  provi- 
sions. But  while  Rain  unloaded  the  ponies,  and  I 
composed  myself  upon  a  robe  to  watch  her.  Miss 
Lane  rode  over  from  the  house.  The  trader's  half- 
breed  daughter  was  eager  to  show  oflf  in  her  dress 
of  cotton  print,  a  sunbonnet,  real  shoes  of  leather 
and  jewelry  of  rolled  gold  set  with  gems  of  glass, 
insignii-  of  her  grandeur  and  importance. 

"K'ya!"  she  cried,  when  Rich  Mixed  had  finished 
barking,  then  reining  her  roan  cayuse,  surveying 
our  beggarly  camp.  "Kyai-yo."  She  patted  her 
lips  with  one  hand,  so  that  the  exclamation  came 
'put  in  broken  gusts.  "Ky-ai-i-yo-o !  You  poor, 
hungry'  ones  I" 

"I  have  a  horse,"  said  I,  "to  trade  for  food." 
But  she  ignored  me,  pattering  in  Blackfoot. 
,"Don't,"  she  chattered,  "don't  think  of  trading 
horses  to  my  father.  All  people  try  to  trade  them 
off  for  food,  but  we  haven't  enough  grub  for  win- 
ter, and  he  gets  mad.  So  then  they  go  away  and 
eat  a  pony." 

"My  rifle,"  said  I,  "won't  he  take  that  in  trade?" 


I 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH         at 

"No  buffalo  left,"  said  Mitt  Lane,  "and  the 
people  can't  find  any  deer.  Why,  Flat  Tail't  band 
are  reduced  to  fiih,  and  you  know  that  the  Sun  God 
forbids  them  to  eat  fish." 

"Don't  you  hear?"  asked  Raia  "Oh,  Got- Wet, 
we'll  sell  the  rifle." 

But  Got-Wet  stared  at  me,  then  turned  to  Rain 
with  a  grin  as  she  declared  in  English,  "He  sham 
Injun  I" 

Rain  bribed  the  girl  to  silence  with  a  gift  from 
St.  Boniface  Mission,  a  pincushion  cover  made  of 
Berlin  wool,  which  represented  a  blue  cat  on  a 
green  sky,  seated,  head  at  right  turn,  eyes  of  pink 
beads.  In  excruciating  raptures,  Got-Wet  promised 
a  supper  after  dark.  Meanwhile,  she  stayed  for  a 
gossip,  advising  Rain  in  the  art  of  pitching  camp, 
with  now  and  again  a  peep  at  the  sham  Indian, 
foUowed  by  great  pantomime  of  fright.  As  for  me, 
I  wa;  too  proud  to  be  routed  out  of  camp  by  a  girl's 
impudence,  too  hungry  to  search  for  my  brother, 
too  shy  to  interview  the  trader  and  buy  food. 
How  could  I,  with  Rain's  last  streak  of  yellow  face- 
paint  across  my  lordly  nose,  confront  a  white  man? 
I  sat  in  high  gloom,  disdaining  to  notice  Got-Wet. 
'  And  in  excited  whispers,  Got-Wet  divulged  to 
Rain  how  Pedro,  a  white  boy  of  marvelous  in- 


22   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

competence,  had  run  away  with  her  cow.  Yes,  only 
last  night  he  had  stolen  her  cow  and  run  for  the 
Medicine  Line  (United  States-Canada  boundary). 
Oh,  so  handsome,  tool  And  how  he  admired  her. 
Why,  once,  the  rest  was  told  in  whispers,  and  must 
have  been  a  secret  I  was  too  young  to  hear. 

Pedro,  of  course,  was  my  Brat,  but  I  could  hardly 
imagine  a  La  Manjcha  stealing  a  mere  cow.  Still, 
this  could  be  none  other  than  my  brother. 

Yet,  according  to  C!ot-Wet,  my  brother  had 
skipped  the  .country,  and  a  rider  nad  been  sent  in 
haste  to  fetch  the  pony  soldiers.  I  had  not  heard 
of  any  mounted  troops.  Who  were  these  pony 
soldiers  ? 

I  could  see  that,  whoever  the  soldiers  were,  Got- 
Wet  was  thoroughly  frightened  lest  they  should 
catch  my  brother.  She  began  to  plead  with  Rain 
to  ride  at  once,  to  ride  hard  all  night,  to  catch  my 
Brat,  and  bring  home  the  stolen  cow.  Yes,  she 
would  pay  us  a  sack  of  flour  and  a  side  of  bacon,  if 
we  would  fetch  the  cow.  And  while  we  were  about 
it,  we  might  just  as  well  warn  the  foolish  boy  to 
hide  himself  in  the  rocks,  until  the  soldiers  passed. 
Rain  gave  me  a  glance,  to  show  that  she  under- 
stood my  brother's  danger.     Yes,  she  would  ride 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  23 

with  me,  as  soon  as  we  finished  sup;ier  and  had  1.1  e 
flour  and  bacon  for  our  journey.  Bat  who  /as 
the  messenger  who  had  gone  to  fetch  the  soidijrs? 

"Why,  Tail-Feathers-round-his-neck.  Who  else 
could  go?" 

I  saw  Rain  flush.  "But,"  she  said,  "Tail-Feathers 
went  to  the  buffalo  hunting." 

"There  were  no  buffaloes,"  said  Got-Wet.  "So 
Tail-Feathers  came  back.  You  know,  he's  the 
greatest  rifle-shot  that  ever—  Well,  that's  how  he 
got  a  job,  with  rations  and  big  pay.  He's  scout- 
interpreter  now  to  the  pony  soldiers." 

With  nods  and  winks,  Got-Wet  would  have  us 
understand  that  Tail-Feathers  also  adored  her.  Not 
that  she  would  stoop  to  marry  a  mere  Indian.  "Oh, 
no,"  she  simpered.  "Die  first.  Still,  he  adores  me, 
and  rode  off  at  once  when  I  told  him  to  fetch 
the  soldiers." 

"How  far  had  he  to  go  to  fetch  the  soldiers?" 

"Only  to  Slide-out  They'll  be  here  by  daybreak. 
Oh,  Rain,  you'll  ride  and  warn  that  boy  to-night? 
Promise  rac,  dear." 

"Shall  I  tell  Pedro  you  love  him?"  asked  Rain 
demurely. 

But  Got-Wet  shouted,  "No,"  then  swung  her 


24      THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

pony  and  galloped  homeward,  calling  over  her 
shoulder,  "Tell  him  I'm  going  to  marry  your  sham 
Indian.    There!" 

However  hungry,  I  always  liked  to  see  Rain 
pitching  camp.  She  took  the  four  key-poles  of  her 
teepee  and  lashed  them  together  near  their  small- 
er ends;  then  set  their  butts  four  square  upon  the 
ground,  so  that  they  made  a  pyramid.  Next,  she 
laid  the  spare  poles  against  the  crotch  of  the  key- 
poles,  so  that  their  butts  made  of  the  square  a  circle. 
Taking  the  skin  cover  of  the  tent,  she  draped  it 
round  the  cone  of  poles,  mounting  its  ears  on  the 
ear-poles  to  hoist  it  up  into  position,  so  that  the 
ears,  or  wind-vanes,  and  the  door  opened  down 
wind.  She  had  cut  the  lodge  down  small  as  a 
sign  of  mourning,  with  barely  room  for  our  two 
back  rests  and  sets  of  robes  beside  the  middle 
fire.  It  was  none  the  less  snug  for  being  small, 
so  when  I  saw  its  lighted  smoke  in  the  dusk,  I  crept 
in  to  sulk  at  home.  I  found  Rain  laughing  softly, 
while  she  laid  down  the  beds,  and  bubbling  over  at 
intervals,  she  explained  to  me  all  the  news  of  how 
my  brother  had  stolen  a  cow,  and  how  his  enemy, 
the  Blackfoot  warrior,  Tail-Feathers,  had  gone  to 
fetcK  poi^  soldiers.    Ram  blushed  to  the  roots 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  25 

of  her  hair,  and  told  me  then  about  Tail-Feathers. 
She  was  to  be  Mrs.  Tail-Feathers  as  soon  as  she 
got  home  to  the  Piegan  camp. 

"Then,"  said  I,  "why  does  Tail-Feathers  flirt 
with  that  fool?" 

Got-Wet,  Rain  told  me,  was  artful,  and  a  liar. 

I  sulked.  The  time  was  in  sight  when  I  must 
part  with  Rain  or  marry  her.  It  did  not  seem  right 
in  those  days  that  my  father's  son  should  marry  a 
mere  squaw,  and  yet  the  thought  of  parting  hurt 
me  very  sorely.  I  hated  Tail-Feathers  the  worse 
because  I  saw  Rain  loved  him.  And  I  was  so 
hungry. 

At  dark  came  Got-Wet,  her  pony  loaded  with 
flour  and  bacon,  which  she  made  us  hide  at  once 
because  it  was  stolen  out  of  her  father's  store.  She 
had  also  a  dish  of  scrapings,  cold  fried  potatoes 
and  bacon,  with  soggy  slapjacks  and  a  can  of  tepid 
coffee,  good  enough  for  Indians.  She  squatted  in 
the  teepee  to  watch  our  ravenous  eating,  while  she 
gave  trail  directions  in  a  gale  of  talk.  So  Jame  a 
gray  and  long-haired  frontiersman,  old  Shifty  Lane, 
shaggy  and  roaring,  who  cursed  his  daughter  for 
feeding  Indian  beggars,  and  drove  her  homeward 
storming  through  the  darkness.     Rain  wanted  to 


26       THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

talk,  but  I  who  had  been  empty  was  now  full,  and 
snored  with  intentioa  Presently  the  fire  fluttered 
out. 

When  Rain  awoke,  a  slender  ray  of  moonlight 
was  creeping  across  the  darkness  near  where  I  lay, 
and  seated  in  the  chief's  place,  she  saw  her  father's 
npirit.  He  was  always  there  to  guard  her  through 
t  le  night,  perhaps  to  hear  her  sigh  of  deep  content 
when  she  changed  dreams. 

lit 

At  midnight.  Rain  bustled  me  out  to  round  the 
ponies  up  while  she  struck  camp.  Why  should 
she  be  so  eager  to  warn  my  Brat?  She  would  not 
spare  me  time  to  water  the  ponies,  but  drove  the 
outfit  hard,  wasting  whole  hours  in  bad  ground  by 
starlight  which  in  the  morning  we  could  have  cross- 
ed at  ease.  Day  broke  at  last,  and  we  took  up  the 
tracks  of  the  stolen  cow.  Beside  them  went  the 
marks  of  a  white  man's  boots,  just  large  enough 
for  Brat  and  too  small  for  any  one  else.  Rain 
trailed  her  travois  of  lodge  poles  and  our  loose 
ponies,  to  blot  out  those  telltale  signs,  while  I  rode 
well  ahead  down  the  Milk  River  Valley,  under 
long  diflfs  of  castellated  rock.    There  were  orchards 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  27 

of  wild  ripe  fruit,  but  Rain  insisted  on  a  racking 
pace,  while  the  sun  climbed  up  the  eastern  and  down 
the  western  sky.  So  when  the  sun  was  waning  down 
the  west,  we  came  upon  our  quarry.  El  Senor  Don 
Pedro  de  la  Mancha,  with  his  arms  round  the  cow's 
neck,  sobbing  bitterly. 

Sudi  was  the  heat,  that  I  rode  in  breech  clout 
and  moccasins,  the  Indian  war-dress.  Add  to 
that  the  devilish  Indian  war  screech,  and  the  charg- 
ing horse,  and  you  will  realize  that  poor  Brat  had 
scarcely  time  to  jump  out  of  his  skin  with  fright, 
before  a  wild  and  naked  roaring  savage  galloped 
over  him. 

He  sat  up,  quite  prepared  for  death,  and  yet,  his 
nose  being  crushed,  and  his  heart  full  of  indigna- 
tion, he  resolved  to  sell  his  life  dearly.  Heroes,  he 
remembered,  in  redskin  fiction,  always  sell  their 
lives  dearly,  but  are  never  seriously  killed  because 
that  would  spoil  the  plot.  The  proper  thing  was 
to  lug  out  his  .44  Colt  revolver  with  its  eight  and  a 
half  inch  barrel  and  thus  be  prepared  for  great 
deeds  of  war.  It  was  a  pity  that  all  his  cartridges 
should  be  .45.  Had  they  only  fitted  the  gun,  what 
a  scene  of  blood  I 

"What  d'ye  mean  by  stealing  cows?"  I  asked  him. 
"Eh,  you  dirty  rotter  ?    Stand  up  and  have  yer  head 


28   THE  CHEERFUL'  BLACKGUARD 

punched!  I'll  teach  you  to  get  into  mischief  1  Now. 
Brat,  I'm  going  to  give  you  the  dumedest  hiding." 
Yet,  though  I  addressed  the  Brat  in  my  very  best 
Eton  manner,  the  tone  of  'he  public  schools,  as  pro- 
ceeding from  a  naked  savage,  entirely  failed  to  con- 
vince. It  was  not  until  I  dismounted,  and  diligently 
performed  my  promise,  and  having  given  him  a 
jolly  good  hiding,  proceeded  to  give  him  some  more, 
that  Brat  began  dimly  to  realize  that  I  was  indeed 
his  brother. 

So  far,  dear  Rain,  very  impatient  with  us,  had 
from  her  saddle  watched  the  ceremonial  observances 
of  white  men,  when  brothers  meet  after  long  separa- 
tion.   Now  seeing  that  I  had  dropped  a  tail  of  my 
false  hair,  she  made  me  squat  down  while  she 
hurriedly  braided  it  on  again,  cooing  with  sympathy 
when  she  tugged  too  hard.    Brat  sat  down  opposite, 
to  pant  and  make  friends  with  my  dog,  and  while 
his  nose  bled,  announced  that  he  also  would  turn 
red  Indian. 
I  asked  him,  gravely,  "How?" 
"Then,"  said  he,  "I'll  be  a  robber,  anyway." 
"Look  here,"  said  I,  "you  know  I've  come  a  long 
way  and  taken  no  end  of  trouble  to  keep  you  out 
of  mischief.    You're  not  going  to  play  the  hog. 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  29 

You  Gadarene  swine,  if  you're  not  respectable  in 
this  life,  where  will  you  go  when  you  die?" 

Brat  couldn't  see  why  I  should  have  all  the  fun, 
so  I  invited  him  to  another  thrashing,  and  he  ex- 
cused himself. 

"Promise,"  said  I,  "to  be  good." 

Seeing  preparations  for  war,  he  gave  a  sullen 
promise. 

"S'elp  you  Bob?" 

"S'elp  me." 

"Honor  bright?" 

"Bet  yer  sixpence." 

"Brat,  why  not  turn  cowboy?""" 

"But  is  that  respectable?" 

"Extremely  so.  Go  and  be  good  in  the  United 
States,  where  you'll  have  lots  of  room.  I  don't 
want  to  fcrowd  you.  Brat." 

"I  know  that,  Hosay." 

Of  course,  we  were  talking  in  Spanish,  and  in 
our  language  my  name  is  spelled  Jose,  lest  the  Eng- 
lish should  guess  the  pronunciation. 

"And  you  can  say,"  I  added  lavishly,  "that  this 
gun,"  I  was  taking  sights,  "was  stolen  from  you 
by  Indians.    Also  the  cow." 

"But  it's  not  true  I" 


30       THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"It  it." 

"Oh,  but  it's  not  fair  I" 

"Child."  said  I,  "our  ancestors  were  not  caught 
by  mere  pony  soldiers  with  such  trifles  as  a  gun 
and  a  cow." 

"Pony  soldiere?" 

"Yes." 

"You  don't  mean  the  mounted  police?" 

I  had  never  heard  of  mounted  police,  but  I  look- 
ed grave  and  wooden. 

"I  don't  tare  I"  he  cried.  "I  bought  that  gun 
from  their  sergeant." 

"And  a  licenser 

"But  the  cartridges,"  said  poor  Braf,  "are  forty- 
fives,  and  they  don't  fit  the  forty-four  bore.  You 
might  let  me  keep  my  gun." 

"Oh,  all  right."  I  must  own  I  was  reluctant 
"Catch!" 

"And  the  cow.  Shifty  Lane  wouldn't  pay  me  my 
wages,  so  I  collected  his  cow.  The  police  wiU  say 
it  served  him  jolly  well  right" 

I  was  too  hungry  to  relinquish  real  beef.  "No," 
said  I  firmly,  "you'd  better  let  me  look  after  the 
poor  fcow." 

So  Brat  began  to  tell  me  his  adventures,  and 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH         31 

how  he  had  been  fool  enough  to  flirt  wii.i  Got- Wet 
I  was  disgusted  with  him.  especially  as  Lane's  half- 
breed  daughter  had  be^n  making  violent  iove  to  the 
Indian.  Tail-Feathers.  I  told  Brat  he  really  must 
remember  his  social  position,  the  natural  obligations 
of  his  rank,  the  utter  foUy  of  stooping  to  such  a 
creature  as  Got-Wet  Indeed,  I  had  some  hope  of 
improving  my  brother's  morals,  laying  down  pre- 
cept and  example,  when  Rain  said  the  soldiers  were 
coming.  She  had  been  worrying  us  all  the  time  we 
talked. 

I  kissed  poor  Brat,  and  we  promised  to  write  let- 
ters, though  neither  of  us  thought  of  giving  a  pos- 
tal address.  Then  I  sent  him  away  with  my  bless- 
ing. 

"Vaya  usted  con  DiosI" 

"Adios,"  the  Brat  sobbed,  "AdiosI" 

So  we  parted,  and  my  little  brother  went  on 
down  the  valley,  very  grateful.  At  an  angle  of  the 
cliffs,  he  waved  his  hat  in  farewell,  and  passed  on 
out  of  sight. 

For  my  part,  I  mounted  my  sorrel  and  rode  off, 
driving  the  cow  toward  a  break  in  the  cliffs,  where 
I  proposed  to  dine  for  onjce  on  beef  without  any 
foolish  delays.     But  Rain  trailed  after  me  with 


32   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

the  pack  beasts,  pleading  that  there  were  soldiers 
in  pursuit  She  spoke  of  some  awful  fate  awaiting 
Indian  cow  thieves  caught  red-handed  with  the 
white  man's  beef. 

Of  course,  what  she  said  was  all  very  well  for 
Indians,  but  I  told  her  I  was  white,  and  all  the  pony 
soldiers  could  go  to  blazes.    I  was  hungry. 

Poor  little  girl  I  I  suppose  she  craved  as  much 
as  I  did  for  a  juicy  rib.  a  tongue,  the  kidneys. 
Unable  to  resist  the  kidneys,  Ra.'n  followed.  The 
low  sun  was  right  in  our  eyes.  The  meadow  was 
all  haze;  we  could  not  see  very  well.  And  Rain 
was  crying. 

And  through  her  sobs,  Rain  warned  me.  The 
scout-interpreter,  who  was  bringing  the  soldiers  to 
take  a  cow  thief,  was  none  other  than  her  own 
betrothed  lover.  Tail-Feathers  would  see  us  two 
together.  He  would  be  angry,  jealous.  He  was 
the  champion  rifle-shot  of  the  Blackfoot  nation.  I 
had  a  rifle  to  threaten,  no  cartridges  to  fire.  So 
she  made  me  fly  from  him,  and  march  swiftly  these 
weary  hours.    To  delay  our  flight  was  death. 

I  set  my  teeth,  and  refused  her  the  slightest 
notice.    I  hated  Tail-Feathers  I 


iTHE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH         33 


IV 


Between  the  meadow  and  the  foot  of  the  cliff 
some  former  channel  of  Milk  River  had  left  a 
narrow  lake.  This  pulled  me  up  short,  and  as  I  looked 
for  a  way  round  the  water,  a  smoke-puf!  appeared 
at  the  rim  of  the  cliff  overhead,  a  rifle-shot  rang  out 
with  rumbling:  thunder  echoes,  and  my  sorrel  horse 
crashed  down  dead,  leaving  me  more  or  less  in  the 
air.  A  second  shot  crumpled  my  cow.  A  third 
grazed  my  naked  shoulder,  lifting  blood.  Then 
came  Rain  at  full  gallop  to  my  rescue,  screaming 
in  Blackfoot  to  the  man  up  there  on  the  cliff. 

"TaU-Feathers!  Oh,  Tail-Feathers,  how  could 
you?  Killed  my  pony,  spoiled  the  cowl  Don't 
kill  my  squaw  1" 

Her  squaw  1  She  called  me  a  squaw  1  Mel  I 
jumped  up  and  down  in  my  fury. 

"See,"  Rain  shrieked.  "My  squaw  is  dancing  I 
Lookl" 

"How  dare  youl"  I  shouted  at  her. 

"Boy-drunk-in-the-moming,"  her  eyes  were  danc- 
ing with  fun.  "I'm  saving  your  life,  you  silly." 

"Mind  your  own  business  1" 

"Seel"  She  pointed  at  a  gaunt,  middle-aged  In- 


I 


M      THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

djan  in  n  gr»y  slop  »uit,  who  rode  along  the  sky-line 
seeking  a  way  down  the  cliffs.  "There,"  she  said. 
"My  man." 

It  was  cerUinly  very  awkward. 

"I  am  his  woman,"  she  said  demurely,  then 
tossing  her  head  with  a  flash  of  royal  pride,  "and 
he's  my  man  I  He  comes  now  to  take  me  to  his 
lodge." 

"But  what  right  had  the  feUow  to  shoot  me? 
Confound  his  cheek,  he  has  shot  me  I" 

"Not  much,"  she  caressed  the  long  wale  carved  in 
my  shoulder.  Then  she  gabbled  so  quickly  in  her 
sweet  liquid  speech,  that  I  could  only  just  catch 
flying  words. 

She  was  telling  Tail-Feathers  to  stop  kiUing  me. 
As  if  I  cared  I 

Tail-Feathers  was  a  mighty  warrior,  who  could 
never  stoop  to  killing  a  mere  boy  with  no  s^p.  a 
boy  with  a  false  wig  of  woman's  hair.  She  begged 
me  to  set  to  the  camp  work,  the  squaw's  work,  so 
I  could  stay  alive  until  the  soldiers  got  me. 

Blind  with  tears,  moaning  with  rage,  I  shot  back 
the  lever  and  jammed  it  home,  as  though  I  were 
loading  my  rifle.  Tail-Feathers  should  think  he 
had  an  armed  man  to  fight,  not  a  squaw  begging 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH         35 

hU  mtrcy.    I  knelt  down  and  took  a  sight  at  the 
approaching  horseman.    If  it  wer«  only  loaded! 

Rain  was  nervous.  Her  litUe  toil-worn  hands 
were  trembling  as  they  caressed  my  head.  "You're 
not  an  Indian."  she  crooned.  "Not  like  an  Indian, 
kneehng  out  here  in  the  open,  exposed,  with  an 
empty  rifle.  Fight-in-ti.f-open-with-an-empty-gun 
is  the  sort  of  person  who  makes  my  man  laugh. 
Oh.  surely  he  must  see  that  you're  a  mere  boy.  a 
child,  too  young  for  killing. 

"See  how  he  leaves  his  pony  and  climbs  down 
—and  comes  from  bush  to  bush  and  hides  behind 
the  rocks—  He's  coming  very  near  to  see  what's 
wrong,  why  you  don't  fire.  And  I  stand  behind 
you,  so  if  he  fires  he'U  get  us  both.  Hear  how 
he  shouts— Wants  me  to  get  out  of  his  line  of  fire. 
I'm  so  frightened!"  She  rumpled  up  my  hair,  and 
laughed  with  queer,  little,  tremulous  chuckles.  "Ho, 
Tail-Feathers."  she  called,  "you're  not  to  kill  my 
funny  boy  any  more.  I'll  never  love  you  if  you 
hurt  my  boy." 

But  Tail-Feathers  yelled  from  behind  a  rock, 
denouncing  her  for  a  wanton  unfit  to  be  his  woman. 

"Men  are  so  stupid,"  she  whispered  in  my  ear. 
"He's  going  to  shoot  us  both." 


36   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

I  asked  her  quickly  and  roughly  if  she  would  be 
my  wife.  If  I  had  brought  her  ^o  such  a  pass  as 
this,  it  was  her  due,  and  as  a  gentleman  I  could  do 
no  less.  Yet  when  she  answered,  "No,"  I  felt  re- 
lieved. 

"To  marry  you,"  she  chuckled,  "to  be  your 
woman?  Boy-drunk-in-the-moming  will  take  me 
to  his  lodge  of  all  the  winds,  a  queer  person  who 
can  not  hunt  or  fight  or  even  run  away.  He'll  feed 
me  through  the  hunger-death  next  winter.  Oh, 
you  funny  boy,  I  hope  my  man  won't  get  you." 

Now  she  had  roused  me  to  such  a  pitch  of  frenzy 
that  death  was  easy  compared  with  the  shame  of  life. 
I  could  see  the  Indian  creeping  behind  a  rock  not 
fifty  feet  away.  The  Blackfeet  have  no  oaths,  but 
I  could  swear,  and  did,  until  Rain  shrank  back 
in  horror.  I  sprang  straight  at  the  man,  who  was 
so  startled  that  he  fired  high. 

He  was  pumping  a  fresh  cartridge,  and  praying 
the  Great  Mystery  to  guide  his  aim.  By  all  the 
rules  of  war,  I  had  no  right  to  charge  him,  for 
no  sane  man  would  dare.  He  thought  me  crazy, 
bullet  proof,  inspired  by  the  Big  Spirit. 

But  when  he  turned  to  run,  I  thought  I  was 
losing  him,  and  with  a  scream  of  passion  hurled 


THE  GLAMOUR  L7  YOUTH 


37 


my  rifle  whirling  through  the  air.  It  caught  him 
just  at  the  base  of  his  skull,  and  felled  him. 

Then,  with  my  foot  upon  his  neck,  I  turned  on 
Rain.  "Am  I  a  squaw  or  am  I  a  man?"  I  asked. 
"Woman,  come  here,  you're  mine  I" 

For  just  one  quivering  moment.  Rain  obeyed 
me.  Then  we  both  ftlt  a  tremor  in  the  ground, 
and  looking  up  the  valley  saw  a  mounted  man, 
full  gallop,  charging  at  us.  "The  pony  soldiers! 
Fly  for  your  lifel"  cried  Rain. 


Vl 


Slide-out  Detachment  was  an  outpost  of  the 
Northwest  Mounted  Police,  where  the  sergeant- 
m-charge  had  the  mumps,  which  made  him  look 
ridiculous  and  feel  cross.  To  him  came  Tail-Feath- 
er,  the  scout-interpreter,  with  complaint  from  Shifty 
Lane  about  a  stolen  cow.  There  was  not  a  man  to 
be  spared,  so  a  recruit  was  sent  on  patrol.  Constable 
Buckie,  with  the  scout  for  chaperon. 

Poor  Buckie  rode  in  mingled  pride  and  pain : 
PRIDE.  Half  a  mile  out,  he  chucked  his  white 
helmet  into  a  bush  and  put  on  a  stetson,  the  flat- 
brimmed  slouch  hat  of  the  prairies,  which  in  those 
days  the  police  were  not  allowed  to  wear.    He  took 


38   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

off  his  gauntlets  because  their  pipe-day  smeared 
him,  and  stuffed  them  into  his  wallets.  He  sported 
a  silk  handkerchief  to  dust  his  beautifully  polished 
long  boots  about  once  in  every  mile.  For  the  rest, 
he  had  a  red  dragoon  tunic,  indigo  breeches  with 
a  yellow  leg-stripe,  white  cross  belt,  a  blazing  bright 
belt  of  burnished  cartridges,  a  foot-long  Adams 
revolver  in  its  holster,  and  a  Snyder  carbine  slung 
athwart  the  horn  of  the  stock  saddle. 

PAIN.  The  poor ,  soretail  would  have  died  on 
duty  rather  than  let  his  grief  be  seen  by  an  Indian, 
but  he  rode  well  over  to  starboard  or  at  times  with 
a  list  to  port,  and  hung  on  with  bloody  spurs,  while 
he  loped  a  rough  rangy  gelding  whose  trot  was 
agony. 

PRIDE.  Approaching  Lane's,  he  put  the  gaunt- 
lets on,  and  ogled  Got-Wet,  who  made  him  first 
flirtation  signals  while  she  talked  to  the  scout  in 
Blackfoot  She  was  making  Tail-Feathers  to  under- 
stand how  Rain,  his  promised  wife,  was  traveling 
just  ahead  with  a  white  man  disguised  as  an  Indian. 
Leaving  Constable  Buckie  to  play  with  Got-Wet,  the 
scout  rode  on  to  kill  me.  What  happened  after- 
ward between  Got-Wet  and  Buckie  in  the  bam  loft 
is  entered  in  the  constable's  official  notes  as  "infor- 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  39 

mation  received."  He  was  both  proud  and  shocked 
at  his  own  conduct,  supposing  that  eveiy  flirt  went 
direct  to  perdition. 

PAIN.  Buckie  rode  down  the  valley  all  day  long 
wondering  what  could  have  become  of  his  chaperon. 
Toward  sunset,  a  sound  of  rifle-shots  ahead 
aroused  him  to  a  sense  of  something  wrong.  He 
saw  the  chance  for  some  great  deed  of  war,  and 
since  he  could  not  bear  the  pain  either  of  trot  or 
canter,  he  had  to  charge  at  full  gallop,  keeping  his 
eyes  shut  because  he  was  scared  to  look. 

PRIDE.  He  pulled  his  gun. 

Now  I  was  standing  on  his  chaperon's  neck, 
whetting  my  knife  to  scalp  my  first  real  Indian, 
when  suddenly  I  saw  a  proper  Tommy  Atkins,  of 
scarlet  cavalry,  somehow  broke  loose  from  England 
and  charging  straight  at  me,  blind. 

"Whoa I"  said  I.     "Whoa,  boss!" 

At  that,  the  rangy  gelding  pulled  up  dead,  but 
the  soldier  came  straight  on  until  he  bumped,  and 
slid  right  to  my  feet 

"Hello!"  said  I. 

The  soldier  blinked  at  me,  leveled  his  gun  and 
grunted,  "Hands  up,  you  swine!" 

But  at  that  moment,  I  wanted  a  whole  regiment 


!i 


i'l 


40   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

to  defy,  so  I  told  him  I'd  see  him  damned  first, 
for  I  would  not  throw  up  my  hands  for  any  bally 
Tommy. 

"Come,  hands  up,  nitchie  (friend)." 

"You  siUy  ass,"  I  said.  "Can't  you  see  I'm  a 
white  man?" 

"You  look  it,"  said  he  with  sarcasm;  and  being 
nicely  stained  brown  aU  over  by  way  of  costume, 
I  could  only  smile. 

The  rookie  had  misgivings.  This  episode  would 
be  grand  in  Saturday's  letter  to  mother,  but  what 
would  they  say  in  barracks  about  pulling  a  revolver 
on  an  unarmed  man.  He  smirked,  so  I  told  him 
to  put  his  gun  away  and  not  try  to  be  funny.  He 
obeyed. 

"Consider  yourself  under  arrest,"  he  growled, 
for  that  was  the  way  the  non-coms,  always  ad- 
dressed htm.  "Now,"  he  stood  up,  "what  d'ye 
mean  by  kiUing  the  cow  and  my  scout-interpreter?" 

"If  you—"  I  suggested  blandly, 

"If  you— what?" 

"If  you  please,  pig,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I'll  be  dog-gonedl  Say."  he  asked,  almost 
respectfully,  "have  you  seen  a  young  fellow  along 
here  by  the  name  of  Pedro  la  Manfha?" 

"You  dreamed  him." 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  41 

"Ax  that  girl." 

So  I  asked  Rain  in  my  best  Blackfoot,  but  she 
did  not  understand  it  very  well.  Then  it  occurred 
to  Constable  Buckie  that  I  might  be  Pedro  in  dis- 
guise. 

"Here,  you,"  he  asked  Rain,  "who  killed  that 
cow?"    I  translated. 

Now  Rain  was  afraid  of  pony  soldiers,  but 
she  remembered  being  iuEulted  by  her  man,  and 
charged  with  being  a  wanton.    He  should  rue  that ! 

"He  killed  the  cow,"  she  answered,  pointing  at 
Tail-Feathers,  who  lay  still  unconscious. 

"And  the  pony?" 

Again  she  pointed  at  the  police-interpreter. 

"And  who  killed  my  Indian  scout?" 

For  answer,  she  showed  the  soldier  that  long  red, 
burning  wale  across  my  shoulder,  while  her  point- 
i^.g  finger  accused  the  police-interpreter  of  attempt- 
ed murder.  "Boy-dnuik-in-the-moming,"  she  said 
in  Blackfoot,  "tell  my  words  to  the  pony  soldier. 
Tell  him,  I  say  you  had  no  cartridges  when  this 
man  tried  to  kill  you." 

"She  says,"  I  explained,  "that  I  had  no  ammuni- 
tion, and  that's  a  fact,  worse  luck." 

"Tell  him,"  said  Rain,  "that  you  clubbed  Tail- 
Feathers  with  your  medicine-iroa" 


n 


■4 


42 


THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


I  blushed  as  I  translated.  "This  mighty  hero  " 
she  says,  "charged  like  the  great  chief  of  all  the 
buffalo.  H,s  name  is  Charging  Buffalo,  and  aU 
that  sort  of  stuff,  don't  ye  know." 

The  Indian  began  to  groan. 

Pedro  la  Mancha.  just  tell  the  girl  you're  both  my 
prisoners."  ' 

"The  silly  ass."  I  translated,  "thinks  I'm  Pedro 
and  so  we're  prisoners.    Isn't  it  a  lark  1" 

"She's  a  nice  little  piece."  added  Buckie.  "Tell 
her  to  cut  up  the  cow  and  get  supper." 

So  I  sent  Rain  to  get  supper,  and  she  went,  head 
bent,  feet  dragging,  for  she  was  terrified  at  being 
a  prisoner. 

^^  "Pedro."  the  soldier  was  unsaddling  his  horse. 

you  may  play  at  Indians,  but  I  guess  you've  been 
raised  for  a  lord,  or  some  sort  of  pet.  Say  you 
won't  run.  and  your  word  is  good  enough." 

Having  nothing  to  run  from,  and  nowhere  to  run 
to.  I  readily  gave  parole.  Wild  horses  could  not 
have  dragged  me  from  that  camp  with  real  beef  in 
sight. 

"As  to  this  infernal  Tail-Feathers."  Constable 
Buckie  looked  round.    "Hello!  Look  outi" 
The  scout-interpreter  felt  so  much  better  now 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH         43 

that  he  was  able  to  sit  up  with  his  rifle  and  take 
a  pot-shot  at  my  back.  I  had  just  time  to  jump 
on  his  stomach  before  the  thing  went  off. 

Rookie  he  was,  and  not  over-wise  at  that,  but 
Constable  Buckie  felt  that  for  a  scout-interpreter 
this  Indian  was  too  impulsive.  He  therefore  per- 
suaded Tail-Feathers  to  lie  down  and  take  a  nap 
with  contusions,  then  put  the  man  under  what  he 
called  close  arrest,  tied  up  like  a  brown  paper  parcel, 
for  delivery  to  the  sergeant-in-charge  at  Slide-out. 

xhe  dusk  was  falling,  and  big  white  stars  broke 
through  as  the  sky  darkened.  "I  reckon."  said  Con- 
stable Buckie  wearily,  "we've  time  for  a  swim  be- 
fore supper." 

So  I  challenged  him  to  race  me  at  undressing,  and 
dived  into  the  lake,  which  was  nice  and  warm  for 
swimming.  When  Buckie  had  shed  his  uniform,  he 
joined  me,  and  very  soon  our  troubles  were  for- 
gotten. At  nineteen,  it  is  rather  hard  to  be  officially 
minded  after  business  hours.  As  for  me.  I  liked 
Buckie  iirst-rate,  because  he  happened  to  be  a  dean- 
bred  Canadian.  I  did  not  know  that  we  should  be 
chums  for  life. 

Rain  was  ever  a  busy  little  person,  and  now  in  the 
twilight  she  made  haste  to  get  everything  ready. 
She  cut  loose  Tail-Feathers,  who  passed  away  into 


^  I 


f  : 


44       THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 
the  gloaming,  no  longer  in  anyway  attached  to  the 
mounted  police.     She  used  his  lashings  to  make 
a  neat  bundle  of  Buckie's  arms  and  uniform,  which 
she  dropped  without  a  sound  into  deep  water.    Then 
leaving  the  supper  to  cook  itself,  she  adjourned  to 
an  ant-heap  a  little  way  from  the  cmp.  where  all 
alone  in  the  gloom  she  howled  for  her  poor  father. 
There  was  a  tang  of  frost  in  the  air  when  we 
came  out  chilled,  famished  and  distressed  by  Rain's 
most  dismal  lamentations.    The  fire  was  dead,  there 
was  nothing  to  eat,  and  Tail-Feathers  had  escaped 
so  it  seemed,  with  Buckie's  kit.    As  to  Rain,  she 
said  we  were  very  rude  to  interrupt  her  grief.    She 
was  an  orphan,  and  a  prisoner. 

Wrapped  in  my  painted  robe,  with  chattering 
teeth.  Buckie  St  by  our  fire,  projecting  schemes 
for  tracking  Tail-Feathers  by  torchlight  and  by 
moonshine.     It  was  awkward,  though,  that  the 
Indian  had  decamped  with  both  the  police  carbines, 
both  their  revolvers,  ail  the  ammunition.     Even 
when  comforted  with  much  beef,  the  pony  soldier 
trembled  at  the  thought  of  his  doom  when  he  made 
official  report  to  the  sergeant-in-charge  at  Slide-out. 
Later,  in  the  darkness  of  the  teepee,  I  heard  him 
weeping,  and  at  dawn  he  set  out  barefoot  on  some 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH  45 

futile  attempt  to  track  TaU-Feathers.  The  ground 
was  then  white  with  frost. 

On  his  departure,  Rain  sat  up,  a  little  heap  of 
mischief,  and  whispered  across  the  teepee,  "If  I 
were  only  freel" 

And  I  yawned  back,  "What  then?" 

"I  think,"  she  said  demurely,  "I  could  find  the 
soldier's  clothes." 

"Catl" 

She  purred.    "And  make  you  back  into  a  white 
man,  Charging  Buffalo." 
"Why  for?" 

"So  you  could  go  and  be  a  pony  soldier  " 

"What's  that?" 

"You  saw  the  red  coat,  and  your  eyes  were  so 
hungry!  You  followed  him  like  a  dog,  and  for- 
got poor  little  Rain.  Threw  out  your  chest,  sol 
and  your  shoulders,  hump  I  And  your  eyes,  ever 
so  far  away.  Then  I  call,  and  you  yawn,  so! 
You  re  tired  of  Rain,  and  pkyi„g  Indians,  eh?" 

I  made  shamefaced  objections,  blushing  hot  all 
over  as  I  realized  at  once  that  what  Rain  said  was 
true. 

I  wonder  if  other  men  feel  as  I  do.  I  can  not 
look  unmoved  at  a  pretty  woman,  and  yet  the 


46   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

sight  of  the  British  scarlet  excites  me  more  than 
anything  else  I  know  of.  To  speak  to  a  man  who 
wears  it  makes  me  catch  my  breath.  Equally  strong 
is  the  appeal  to  my  senses  of  revolvers,  cartridge 
belte,  long  boots,  skin  clothes  or  any  gear  of  horse- 
manship or  wild  life.  To  see  these  things  makes 
my  heart  leap,  to  use  them  is  a  lasting  enjoyment, 
whereas  I  have  looked  on  big  stacks  of  gold,  or 
silver,  or  treasures  of  diamonds,  without  the  least 
emotion. 

As  soon  as  Rain  spoke,  I  was  sick  of  Indians. 
Life  was  impossible  outside  the  mounted  police. 

"I  only  try,"  she  mimicked  my  voice  when  I  talk- 
ed  to  the  Brat,  "and  take  so  plenty  trouble  to  keep 
you  out  of  meeschief  I" 

"And  if  I  go  for  a  soldier,  what  about  you?" 
I  asked. 

"Me?"  she  sighed.  "Oh,  I  go  catch  poor  Tail- 
Feathers.  He  got  no  beef." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  poor  Tail-Feathers  had  come 
in  the  night,  had  loaded  his  horse  with  beef,  and 
now,  well  hidden  in  the  cliflfs,  was  ea,  g  the  same 
while  he  watched  Buckie's  futile  attempts  at  track- 
ing. The  soldier  came  back  blue  with  cold,  gray 
with  despair  and  only  too  g^ad  when  I  proposed 
that  Rain  should  be  free  from  arrest  if  she  could 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH         47 

find  his  dothea.  She  placed  a  string  in  his  hands, 
and  bade  him  pull.  So  he  hauled  the  bundle  of 
arms  and  clothes  out  of  the  lake. 

Over  a  big  fire  inside  the  teepee,  we  hung  his 
clothes  to  dry.  and  after  breakfast,  while  I  made 
a  most  careful  toilet,  a  naked  constable  drafted  in 
a  damp  note-book  the  full  official  version  of  his 
patrol. 

"How  will  this  do?"  he  began.  '"Dear  Guts  1' 
I  mean,  'Sir.  I  have  the  honor  to  report  for  your 
information  that  when  I  made  Lane's  from  infor- 
mation received'— from  Got-Wet  when  we  hid  up 
m  the  bam  loft-'to  the  effect,  viz:  that  o!d  Shifty 
was  up  to  his  usual  games,  cheating  said  Pedro  la 
Mancha  out  of  four  months'  wages,  so  Pedro  skinn- 
ed out  with  Got-Wet's  cow.  which  didn't  belong  to 
Lane  anyway,  because  Pedro's  brother  Hosay  la 
Mancha,  a  respectable  British  subject,  had  gone  to 
collect  the  cow  for  Got-Wet.'  So  that's  all  clear  - 
eh?" 

•Tine,"  said  I,  from  behind  the  hanging  clothes. 

"  'Meanwhile,  I  sent  the  interpreter  ahead'— so 
he  wouldn't  catch  on  to  Got-Wet  and  me  in  the 
bam  loft— 'with  instructions  to  pick  up  the  cow 
tracks,  and  when  I  caught  up'— Say,  old  fellow, 
don't  want  to  let  on  that  I  invaded  the  damned 


48   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Sutes  under  arms.  It  wouldn't  be  good  for  GuU, 
and  he'd  throw  Catherine  wheek  if  he  thought  I'd 
raided  Montana.  We'll  say  I  caught  you  up  at  the 
boundary  line,  'where  my  interpreter  was  shooting 
up  the  cow,  the  pony  and  Hosay  la  Mancha.  I 
detained  the  prisoner  in  dose  custody,  but  he  skinn- 
ed out' — and  you  can't  see  his  tail  for  dust — 'so 
I  brung  in  Mr.  la  Mancha,  who  wants  to  take  on  in 
in  the  Outfit,  and  have  the  honor  to  be,  sir,  your 
obedient  servant,  regimental  number'— I'll  have  to 
look  that  up— 'David  Buckie,  Constable.'  How's 
that,  umpire?" 

"Bull's-eye!"  So  I  stepped  out  from  behind  the 
clothes-line.  After  all,  my  dress  suit  was  by  a 
jolly  good  cutter  in  Savile  Row,  the  shirt  a  bit 
nunpled  but  a  decent  fit,  the  pumps  and  socks  quite 
new  and,  nothing  paid  for.  In  my  best  Oxford 
manner,  I  held  out  the  white  tie  and  asked  Buckie 
to  make  the  bow.  "You  bally  idiot  I"  I  added,  be- 
;cause  he  rolled  into  the  fire,  singeing  my  painted 
cow-skin. 

Stark  naked,  the  buck  policeman  rolled  back  over 
the  cooking-pots  and  prayed  to  be  carried  away  for 
burial.  Then  he  sat  up  wiping  his  eyes  with  my 
necktie.  "Chee  I  Now  whar  hev  I  put  me  lavender 
kids?"  he  howled.     "Oh,  hang  my  collar  on  the 


THE  GLAMOUR  OF  YOUTH         49 

chMidelier  while  I  .wetti  Me  put.  U  split  from 
ear  to  tu.  and  it's  my  night  to  how-w-ll  Yew- 
ow-wl"  • 

I  told  him  these  were  all  the  clothes  I  had. 
"Just  turn  them  loose  on  Slide-out.    Think  of 
Guts  I    Why,  you  ring-tailed.  lop-eared  coyote,  you 
can't  join  Our  Outfit  dressed  like  a  blasted  Comet!" 
"What's  to  be  done?" 

"I  guess  I'll  cache  you  in  a  prairie-dog  hole  untU 
I've  stole  you  a  shirt  and  overalls.  AUee  samee, 
that  kit  would  take  first  prize  for  fancy  dress  at  a 
ball,  or  I'm  a  shave-tail." 

Even  in  those  days,  Buckie  suffered  from  a  re- 
spectable soul,  which  made  him  a  bit  of  a  prig  for 
routine,  a  glutton  for  etiquette,  a  shop-walker  for 
deportment,  and  most  maidenly  particular  about  his 
clothes.  He  kept  us  at  work  for  hours  cleaning 
kit  before  he  would  get  into  uniform,  then  mourned 
aloud  because  for  all  my  evening  dress  I  had  lost 
my  opera  hat  and  ought  not  to  go  bareheaded.  In 
the  end  we  departed  riding  his  big  horse  tandem 
with  me  behind,  pursued  by  Ram's  howls,  malicious, 
derisive,  devilish  little  howls.  Were  these  for  her 
poor  father? 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD 


RAIN  was  a  little  brown  hen-angel,  the  half- 
grown,  all  fluffy  chicken  of  a  seraph,  with  a 
tang  of  earth  about  her,  just  deceptively  human  and 
alluring  enough  to  tear  my  heart-strings  when  she 
flew  off  leaving  me  to  bleed. 

To  guard  her,  I  forsook  my  Brat  whom  I  care 
for.  But  when  she  seemed  to  love  another  man, 
and  laughed  a  good-by  to  me  I  could  only  go. 
A  boy  may  love  a  maid  and  yet  love  life.  So  I 
loved  Rain,  but  not  as  yet  more  than  I  loved  my 
life.  That  was  to  come,  but  in  those  days,  life  was 
falling  me,  yes,  tugging  hard. 

Certain  fabuliste  have  alleged  that  I  joined  the 
mounted  police  in  evening  dress.  This  is  not  true, 
for  when  Buckie  was  escorting  me  to  Fort  French, 
my  place  of  enlistment,  we  lunched  by  the  trail-side 
with  an  American  cowboy  who  had  a  quart  of 
pickels.  Afterward,  we  played  cards,  my  kit 
SO 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  51 

staked  against  his.  He  won.  riding  away  in  my 
dress  suit  with  the  tie  under  his  oflF  ear.  and  the 
near  end  of  the  collar  pointing  S.  S.  E..  while 
through  his  nose  he  sang  a  hymn  beginning,  "Oh 
say.  can  you  tell?" 

I  still  had  my  broken  heart,  and  a  dog,  but  as  tp 
the  costume  in  which  I  joined  the  police,  my  modes- 
ty  forbids  particulars. 

One  of  the  greatest  difficulties  in  the  writing  of 
this  book  is  that  my  publishers  hs-, ;  a  craze  for 
particulars.  They  say  that  the  story  is  too  vague. 
I  ought  to  state  the  facts.  Now  if.  to  take  an 
example.  I  give  my  regimental  number  in  the  mount- 
ed police.  I  shall  be  identified,  extradited  and  hang- 
ed just  as  I  have  begun  to  settle  down.  I  have  bor- 
rowed Buckie's  number,  a  cruel  humiliation  for 
me  because  he  was  always  so  dumed  respectable 
that  he  had  scarcely  any  defaulter  sheet. 

"Regimental  Number  1107  Constable  la  Mancha. 
J.,  is  hereby  taken  on  the  strength  of  the  Force  from 
the  20th  instant,  and  posted  to  C  Division." 

So  read  the  orderly  corporal,  standing  at  the 
south  end  of  number  two  barrack  room  in  Fort 
French  while  I  lay  on  my  trestle  and  purred. 

Presently  the  corporal,  announcing  details,  told 
off  Surly  McNabb.  troop  teamster,  to  fetch  a  load 


1  I 


53   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

of  (kmI  with  me  for  off  man.    My  purr  changed 
to  a  groan. 

The  bugle  was  sounding  "Last  post"  with  a  cold 
m  its  head  as  the  orderly  corporal  clanked  away  to 
call  the  roll  next  door.  Then  Windy  O'Rooke  sat 
up  and  shouted  he  had  a  dollar  to  say  that  "Surly 
bucks  stiff-legged  at  taking  a  blanked  rookie  on 
coal  fatigue.    It's  me  he  wants." 

"Mr.  Affable  McNabb,"  said  I,  "has  been  using 
influence  to  get  me.  You  cuckoos  who  steal  one 
another's  ideas  think  Affable's  a  morose  beast  with 
a  thirst  But  gentlemen,  he  has  a  faithful  heart. 
My  dog  to  your  dollar,  Windy,  I'll  make  him  deliver 
a  speech  of  fifteen  minutes." 
"Done  I" 

McNabb  intervened  with  a  horse  brush,  which 
I  fielded,  and  returned  to  its  own  address.  Repri- 
sals followed,  while  I  dived  under  beds  capsizing 
their  peaceful  inhabitants.  So  there  was  rough- 
house  for  the  space  of  thirteen  minutes  while  I  was 
partly  killed,  before  the  bugle  saved  me.  For  at 
"Lights  out,"  the  room  corporal  ordered  silence. 
The  lamplight  changed  to  moonlight  and  a  red  glow 
from  the  stove,  the  stampeding  of  elephants  became 
a  creeping  of  mice,  and  Windy  sat  up  m  bed  for 
a  long  luxurious  scratch. 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  S3 

Next  morning  Surly  drove  his  four-horse  team 
to  an  outcrop  of  coal  about  sixteen  miles  up  the 
valley  of  Old  Man's  River,  and  not  one  word  would 
he  vouchsafe  to  me.    While  he  watched  me  load 
the  wagon  he  ate  his  lunch,  and  smoked  for  hours 
but  still  said  never  a  word.    Once  when  we  start- 
ed back  toward  barracks  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  speak,  for  I  asked  him  politely  if  he  were  not 
too  tired,  but  he  only  shouldered  me  off  the  wagon 
seat  so  that  I  lit  on  my  tail  i„  a  blue  pool  of 
profanity.    I  had  to  climb  on  the  tail-board,  dead 
tired,  black  as  Satan  and  most  frightfully  cold 

Did  you  ever  try  to  whistle  Te  Deum  in  rag- 
t.me?  I  tried  it.  with  my  teeth  for  castanets,  while 
I  sat  m  a  wind  like  a  scythe  and  whittled  Surly's 
grub  box  into  kindlings.  Then  I  made  me  a  lovely 
fire  m  the  load  of  coal,  and  sang  Lead  Kindly  Light 
to  cheer  old  Surly. 

When  it  got  too  hot,  I  dropped  down  and  walked 
behind  singing. 

Oh.  Paradisel   Oh.  Paradisel   I  greatly  long  to 
^^^  ^"aJ[J"  •"'*  ^"*"'"«  Home  attempting  rep- 

'^''\rb'an'dtt'^"=^''*'^°^'''°''«P 
^"'t:^dSertot''i'"*^^'"*'"P'''''"-^ 


54   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

I  was  begrinning  to  run  short  of  rhymes  when  the 
horses  got  a  whiff,  and  aU  four  of  them  stampeded 
as  though  there  were  no  hereafter,  while  Surly 
poured  forth  rhetoric  from  the  midst  of  that  bound- 
ing conflagration,  mitil  he  managed  to  capsize  the 
wagon.    When  I  arrived  on  the  scene  I  found  him 
perched  on  a  boulder  still  declaiming,  so  I  sat  down 
to  take  notes  of  his  benediction.    "Please,"  I  would 
•^.  "I  can't  do  shorthand— what  comes  after  'lop- 
eaied'?"  or  "Hold  dn.   McNabl^from   'pigeorn 
toed  son."'  and  at  last.  "Say.  Affable,  what's  the 
time?    You've  preached  a  good  fifteen  minutes  so 
I  ve  won  my  dollar  bet" 

Then  Surly  grinned  for  the  first  time  on  record, 
so  I  measured  the  smile  with  my  pencil  and  noted 
It  down  at  five  and  three-q.uirter  inches.  At  that 
the  teamster  laughed  until  the  tears  rolled  streaks 
down  his  dusty  face. 

What  with  reloading,  and  too  much  conversa- 
Uon.  we  got  to  the  post  an  hour  late  for  supper 
So  the  teamster  told  the  troop  cook  that  I  was  a 
blackguard.  Such  is  the  origin  of  two  famous 
nicknames,  for  he  was  known  as  Chatter  McNabb 
and  I  as  the  Blackguard  as  long  as  we  served  iii 
the  force. 

The  affair  of  the  Matrimonial  Gazette  has  grown 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         55 

into  a  regimental  myth,  but  that  is  due  to  Rocky 
Mountain  liars,   for  whose  inventions  I  do  not 
claim  credit     Historically  the  matter  dates  from 
my  first  patrol,  when  a  one-horse  rancher  at  The 
Leavings  gave  me  a  copy  of  the  journal.    I  made 
haste  to  advertize.    I  announced  myself  as  a  re- 
spectable bachelor,  considered  extremely  good-look- 
ing and  very  young,  with  pretty  habits,  domestic 
tastes,  nice  manners,  a  bewitching  smile,  a  romantic 
past  and  enormous  expectations.     Ladies  might 
correspond  with  a  view  to  matrimony,  and  as  my 
address  was  "Fort  French,  North  West  Territories, 
Canada,"  they  must  have  felt  tiiat  distance  gave' 
them  safety.    Sixty-eight  damsels  responded,  rang- 
ing  from  fourteen  years  of  age  to  eighty,  and  most 
of  them  sent  photographs,  original  or  borrowed. 
Keeping  a  dozen  beauties  for  my  own  consumption, 
I  sold  the  rest  by  auction  or  private  tre^y  at 
prices  varying  from  ten  cents  in  cash  to  as  many 
dollars  promised.    Each  mail  brought  sixty-eight 
love-letters  addressed   to   J.    la   Mancha,   by  his 
fiancees,  and  as  Cupid's  postman  I  distributed  the 
ladies  according  to  their  post-marks.    If  two  dam. 
sels  happened  to  write  from  the  same  town,  when  a 
virgin  changed  her  address  on  going  to  school  or 
leaving,  when  our  gallants  at  Fort  French  swapped. 


56   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

•old,  traded,  or  pawned  their  dames,  or  parted  with 
their  dearest  girls  to  settle  a  canteen  biU— then 
there  was  misunderstanding  and  prospect  of  a  fight. 
The  claimants  for  a  lady's  hand  would  meet  be- 
hind the  stables  while  the  rest  of  us  made  a  ring 
until  the  pair  found  out  which  gentleman  loved 
best  The  correspondence  was  enormous  and  con- 
fused. 

In  these  annals  of  true  love  I  can  only  select  one 
case  as  bearing  upon  my  story.     The  little  cat  in 
question  claimed  to  be  Mrs.  Burrows,  widow,  of 
Helena,  Montana,  submitted  the  photograph  of  a 
widowed  aunt,  and  loved  Mr.  la  Mancha  with  a 
headlong  passion.    I  traded  her,  I  remember,  to  the 
troop  cook  for  an  L  O.  U.  on  a  sucking  pig  for 
Christmas.     Cook  swapped  her  for  a  terrier  of 
three  sorts  to  Sergeant-Major  Buttocks.    He  was 
caught  by  his  wife  in  the  act  of  mailing  his  irrevo- 
cable vows,   and  finding  himself  severely  repri- 
manded, made  a  hasty  sale  of  the  Helena  widow, 
trading  her  for  a  pair  of  long  boots  to  one  of  our' 
officers.  Inspector  Sarde. 

So  far  the  game  went  merrily  with  no  harm 
done,  but  now  the  sergeant-major  had  to  explain 
that  although  he  was  forever  her  adoring  Jos6  la 
Mancha,  he  was  about  to  change  his  penmanship. 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         57 

This  he  refused  to  do  because  his  own  wife  forbade 
him.  so  I  was  sent  for  by  Inspector  Sarde.    At  the 
troop  office  I  had  to  concoct  a  letter.    In  this  I 
was  Samuel  Partington,  requested  by  J.  la  Mancha 
to  advise  the  widow  Burrows  that  he  had  injured 
his  right  hand  while  trapping  a  catamaran,  but  lyas 
learning  to  write  with  the  left,  for  what  odds  if 
the  fist  was  awkward  so  long  as  the  heart  was  true. 
Both  the  inspector  and  the  sergeant-major  were 
so  delighted  that  I  made  them  a  fair  copy  while 
both  of  them  sat  by  without  suspicions.    In  this  I 
explained  to  the  widow  how  she  had  been  swapped 
for  a  sucking  pig,  a  dog  and  a  pair  of  boots,  her 
latest  proprietor  being  Inspector  Sarde.    The  fair 
copy  was  duly  posted. 

Still  all  went  merrily  and  no  harm  was  done.  But 
none  of  us  liked  Sarde.  With  all  his  undoubted 
merits  he  had  a  meek  and  guileful  tongue  which 
curried  favor,  and  a  smile  a  deal  more  friendly  than 
his  eyes.  An  officer  who  creeps  in  search  of  popu- 
larity is  sure  to  be  detested  by  soldiers,  and  their 
opinion  is  not  far  astray. 

One  night  in  the  barrack  room  a  debate  arose  as 
to  whether  Inspector  Sarde  was  a  gentleman  I 
took  his  part  and  bet  a  dollar  I  would  prove  him 
thoroughbred.     Next  day  I  addressed  a  post-card 


S8   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

to  ConstoWe  Buckie  who  wu  stiU  at  Slide-out,  and 
on  the  back  of  it  wrote  the  story  of  a  litUe  jest  I 
had  at  Sarde's  expense.    The  card  was  posted  at  the 
orderly  room,  found  by  the  clerk  and  shown  to 
Inspector  Sarde.     I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Sarde 
wad  my  post-card,  and  handed  it  to  the  officer  com- 
manding, who  refused  to  look  and  told  him  he  was 
a  cad.     So  it  proved  by  testing  that  poor  Sarde 
was  not  a  gentleman,,  and  I  lost  my  bet.    More- 
over, from  that  time  onward  he  was  my  enemy,  a 
fact  observed  by  every  officer  and  man  in  C  Divi- 
•ion.    This  was  a  boy's  feud  with  a  man,  the  quar- 
rel  of  a  trooper  with  an  officer,  the  risks  on  one 
side,  the  power  on  the  other,  and  I  preferred  an 
opea  breach  without  any  sneaking,  free  from  de- 
grading secrecy.    Looking  back  I  know  I  was  a 
fool,  but  not  unmanly. 

In  the  good  old  times  there  was  a  law  of  pro- 
hibition excluding  liquor  from  the  territories  lest 
it  should  reach  the  Indians.  In  an  arid  country, 
such  a  law  produces  unnatural  thirst,  and  even  the 
most  temperate  men  take  a  delight  in  outwitting 
a  fool  government.  So  the  law  breeds  law-break- 
ws.  informers,  whisky  thieves,  drunkards,  bad 
liquor  and  delirium  tremens,  promotes  the  use  of 
drugs  and  generally  plays  havoc  with  public  mw- 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  59 

ab.  Let  any  man  who  doubts  my  statement  ask 
the  nearest  policeman  whose  duty  it  is  to  know  the 
actual  facts,  while  legislators  live  in  a  world  of 
dreams. 

During  a  severe  winter  drought.  Inspector 
Sarde's  mother  sent  him  a  case  of  eggs.  As  iar 
as  one  could  see  it  was  quite  in  order  that  Mrs. 
Sarde  should  send  twelve  dozen  eggs  to  her  ab- 
stemious son  in  partibus  infidelium,  where  luxuries 
are  scarce.  They  were  packed  in  salt,  shipped  C. 
O.  D.  by  express,  forwarded  from  Fort  Benton  in 
the  stage  sleigh,  consigned  per  I.  G.  Baker  and 
carried  to  Sarde'!>  quarters  by  a  constable  on  fa- 
tigue.   That  was  I. 

In  course  of  duty,  I  just  bumped  the  eggs  to  see 
if  they  were  "fragile"  as  advertised  on  the  case, 
and  at  once  there  arose  a  perfume  which  no  police 
constable  could  possibly  ignore.  Did  hens,  I  won- 
dered, lay  eggs  filled  with  whisky?  Or  having  laid 
eggs  full  of  meat  did  the  hens  blow  them,  fill  them 
with  comfort,  and  seal  them  up  with  wax?  Or  had 
they  matured  on  the  way?  Or  was  an  officer,  a 
justice  of  thf  peace,  importing  illicit  refreshments? 
Would  they  be  good  for  Sarde?  Was  it  not  my 
duty  to  save  the  officers'  mess  from  making  a  beast 
of  itself? 


«6       THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

I  took  that  case  to  the  barrack  room  and  sub- 
mitted it  to  a  board  of  constables,  who  pronounced 
each  several  egg  to  contain  more  than  two  and  five- 
tenths  per  cent,  of  alcohol,  and  resolved  to  compen- 
sate the  owner  for  that  disgusting  state  of  intoxica- 
tion to  which  he  was  no  longer  liable.  The  case  was 
therefore  reloaded  with  a  dead  cat,  and  a  puppy  of 
last  year's  vintage,  and  a  twelve  horse-power  bou- 
quet on  which  we  laid  an  epitaph  in  verse. 

"Toll  for  the  eggs 

The  eggs  which  are  no  more 
All  sunk  within  the  Braves 

Fast  by  their  destined  shore.. 
We  were  not  in  the  bottle. 

No  barrel  met  the  shodt. 
We  sprang  a  fatal  leak. 

We  ran  on  Duty's  Rock. 
These  are  but  cat  and  puft 

Not  alcoholic  eggs. 
So  weigh  the  vessel  up; 

Stand  firm  upon  your  legs : 
Then  boil  the  tea  and  pass  it  round 

To  the  Guardians  of  our  Land, 
"21  "^  your  life  it's  not  our  fault 

That  whisky's  contraband !" 

Next  day  at  morning  stables.  Inspector  Sarde 
being  orderly  officer,  put  all  the  duty  men  under 
arrest  for  making  chicken  talk  when  told  to  answer 
their  names.   He  wid  he  was  surprised. 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         6t 

Afterward,  at  breakfast  time,  he  opened  his  case 
of  refreshments,  which  stampeded  the  officers' 
mess.    He  really  was  surprised. 

Before  office,  old  Wormy,  our  officer  tommand- 
ing,  sent  for  Mr.  Sarde.  "My  yong  frien',  how 
you  charge  my  mans  for  dronk  on  catan'puppy, 
heinr  Or  you  say  dronk  on  veeskeyegg.  Whose 
vceskeyegg?  Yours?  How  you  come  by  dose  vees- 
keyegg? Where  you  get.  heinr  Bien,  M'sieu 
L'Inspecteur  Veeskey-smogglel  Sacre  mo'jew 
Ba'teme.   Damn  I" 

So  we  were  all  released  without  trial,  but  Mr. 
Sarde  would  like  to  see  Constable  la  Mancha  at 
his  quarters.  I  told  the  orderly  sergeant  that  I 
was  suffering  from  severe  alcoholic  depression,  but 
all  the  same  I  was  paraded  up  before  the  bereaved 
inspector. 

"My  man,"  said  Mr.  Sarde,  "you  know  that  a 
commissioned  officer  can  not  threaten  a  constable." 

I  was  shocked  at  the  very  idea. 

"But  I  may  promise.  La  Mancha,  to  watch  over 
your  interests  like  a  guardian  angel." 

I  told  him  he  was  a  tripe  hound. 

"Orderly  Sergeant,"  said  the  officer,  "you  will 
note  the  words  used,  and  place  this  man  under 
close  arrest," 


«»      THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

So  I  got  a  inonth'i  impriionmcnt,  and  they  uy  h 
wu  moM  impreMive  in  the  guard-room  to  hear  my 
voice  in  the  celli  a«  I  prayed  for  Sarde. 


You  may  not  remember,  but  an  American  cow- 
boy won  my  dreaa  suit  at  ca«U.  When  he 
got  back  to  his  outfit  over  in  Montwia.  he  met  my 
brother,  and  gave  him  my  address.  Then  Brat 
wrote  to  me,  telling  me  how  on  the  day  we  parted 
he  had  struck  grub  with  the  Double  Crank  beef 
round-up  who  todc  him  on  as  wrangler,  at  twenty. 
whUe  they  worked  the  Kato-yi-six. 

This  being  translated  from  cow  talk  into  English 
means  that  Brat  as  he  wandered  afoot  down  Milk 
River  coulfe,  came  to  a  wagon  where  a  co<A  was 
busy  molding  pies  on  the  tail-board.     The  co<dc 
told  Brat  that  his  wagon  attended  the  riders  of  the 
Double  Crank  ranch,  who  were  collecting  beef  cat- 
tie  for  shipment  on  tiie  Sweet  Grass  HiUs  of  Mon- 
tana.   They  had  mislaid  the  boy  who  handled  their 
pony  herd,  so  their  foreman,  when  he  rode  in  at 
sundown,  engaged  my  Brat  to  take  the  job  at  twenty 
dollars  a  month. 
Moreover,  Brat,  being  a  good  boy  whom  I  had 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD        63 
rriRd  by  hMd,  kept  hi.  job  for  four  month,.  «d 
b«cu.e  he  had  .  wooden  tut  at  poker  won.  in  «1. 
d.t.on  to  his  education,  wages  and  board,  three 
PonJe*.  a  pair  of  d»p,.  a  «iddle  and  spur,  dam- 
Mkened  with  gold.  But  a,  the  winter  dosed  down 
•nd  spare  men  were  discharged,  my  brother's  heart 
filled  with  dumb  yearnings,  so  he  took  hi.  pay,  and 
rode  «Tos,  to  Lane's  where  he  showed  off  h;= 
wealth,  splendor  and  success  in  front  of  Got-Wet 
She  very  nearly  wccumbed. 

Along  came  Buckie  on  patrol  from  Slide^wt 
very  m«rt  in  a  buffalo  coat  and  fur  cap,  a  Russian' 
g«nd  duke  to  the  vety  life  with  a  ruby  and  dia- 
mond  engagement  ring  he  had  picked  up  cheap  from 
a  Montana  robber. 

Brat  found  himself  outnumbered,  "by  »  mere 
Cwadiw,,  too,"  and  in  his  desolation  blamed  the 
«ld.er  ,  scarlet  serge.  He  wanted  a  red  coat  more 
than  an  else  on  earth  since  cowboys  were  of  no 
account  in  the  eyes  of  Got-Wet. 

Slick  Buckie  was  no  fool.  His  triumph  might 
Iwt  .ts  little  hour,  but  hi,  official  visits  were  rare 
a,  transit,  of  Venus,  whereas  the  cow-hand,  a  mere 
civilian,  could  be  there  aU  the  time.  So  he  talked 
«ductively  about  the  outfit,  but  doubted  if  Brat 
was  old  enough  to  join,  or  brave  enough  to  face 


*'■ 


64   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


a  rough  career.  Oh,  he  was  very  doubtful  about 
vacancies  for  recruits,  and  couldn't  be  bothered  any- 
way with  Brats.  They  had  one  La  Mancha  in  C 
Troop  already,  and  that  was  enough  in  all  con- 
science with  his  devilish  practical  jokes,  when  he 
fired  that  load  of  coal,  got  an  officer  mixed  up  with 
one  of  his  cast  girls,  and  the  whole  division  drunk 
on  smuggled  eggs.  So  gently  Slick  lured  his  rival 
away  from  the  arms  of  Got- Wet,  and  got  him  dul> 
enlisted  at  Fort  French  a  hundred  miles  from  temp- 
tation. 

With  Brat  in  barracks,  I  felt  that  my  responsi- 
bilities were  overwhelming.  There  was  so  little 
room  in  number  4  cell  for  setting  a  good  example, 
and  through  the  loop-hole  in  the  log  wall  at  the 
back  it  would  be  difficult  to  train  a  young  man  in 
the  paths  of  virtue.  Thrice  daily  I  had  him  up  out- 
side the  loop-hole  to  see  that  he  cleaned  his  nails 
and  had  no  high  water  mark  about  his  neck,  that  he 
committed  the  standing  orders  to  memory,  brushed 
his  teeth,  wrote  to  his  mother,  threw  a  smart  salute, 
and  minded  his  manners  when  addressing  a  superior 
officer.  He  must  not  play  cards  except  with  rookies, 
or  borrow  money  from  chaps  who  ought  to  be  kept 
at  a  distance,  or  get  acquainted  with  any  beastly 
civilians,  or  make  silly  practical  jokes,  or  give  cheek 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  65 

to  a  blanked  inspector,  or  correspond  with  girls. 
Long  years  later,  he  explained  to  me  why  he  had 
been  content  to  stand  and  freeze  while  I  lectured. 
I  was  all  he  had  in  the  way  of  parents,  and  my  voice 
reminded  him  of  one  which  was  hushed  at  the  sol- 
emn gates  of  Paradise  "except  of  course,"  he  added, 
"when  you  used  bad  language." 

It  was  rotten  luck  for  him  that  I  should  be  in 
prison  just  when  he  needed  me.  Nobody  else  could 
be  bothered  to  teach  a  mere  coyote.  Nobody,  for 
example,  took  the  trouble  to  warn  him  to  have 
moccasins  in  his  pockets  during  a  sopping  thaw  out 
on  the  Milk  River  Ridge.  The  patrol  were  wet  to 
the  waist  when  they  camped,  bui  by  midnight  it 
was  thirty  degrees  below  zero,  and  the  frozen  boot 
cut  the  toes  off  my  brother's  right  foot,  laying  him 
up  for  two  years. 

Brat's  great  soft  black  eyes  seemed  always  to  be 
lighted  from  within,  his  smile  had  a  haunting  ten- 
derness. In  him  I  could  see  my  mother,  as  I  re- 
member her  before  she  left  us. 


m 


Rain  often  used  to  tell  me  about  her  hero,  her 
elder  brother,  Many.  Horses,  chief  of  the  Crazy 


66   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Dog  hand  in  the  Piegin  tribe  of  the  Blackfeet,  aad 
of  his  woman,  the  daughter  of  the  head  chief,  whose 
name  was  Owl-caIIing-"Coming." 

Many  Horses  stood  six  foot  two,  lithe  as  a  whip, 
rode  like  a  god,  and  had  the  suriy  pride  of  Lucifer. 
You  may  see  his  likeness,  both  as  to  form  and  color, 
in  old  bronze  portraits  of  Augustus  Qesar.     But 
please  take  that  in  profile,  because  poor  Many 
Horses  had  a  most  sinister  spirit    Apart,  however, 
from  that,  his  was  an  astounding  combination  of 
blessings— youth,    health,    beauty,    grace,    dignity, 
high  rank  as  a  warrior,  and  virtues  so  exalted  that 
I  fo«ffld  him  painful  to  contemplate.    He  was  a  mix- 
ture of  Bayard,  Galahad  and  the  Cid,  a  knight- 
errant  of  stainless  honor  who  had  never  seen  a  joke 
in  his  life,  being  void  of  the  slightest  vestige  of  any 
sense  of  humor.    Among  the  merry  Blackfeet  that 
man  was  a  freak. 

At  the  time  I  lay  in  the  cells,  this  savage  gentle- 
man discovered  my  address  and  came  north  to  kill 
me.  Ideas  with  him  were  very  rare  events,  and  in 
this  one  he  took  the  pride  of  an  inventor.  But  how 
could  he  get  inside  the  fort?  A  white  man  had 
merely  to  walk  in  through  open  gates,  but  these 
were  closed  to  Indians.  He  hoped  for  the  vacancy 
left    by    Tail-Feathers    of    scout-interpreter,    but 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         tj 

found  that  the  place  had  been  filled  by  old  Beef 
Hardy.  A  clever  man  would  have  seen  a  dozen 
ways  of  getting  in,  but  this  hero  was  stupid  as  he- 
roes are  in  fiction,  so  he  thought  that  only  as  pris- 
oner could  he  gain  admittance.  To  get  himself 
made  prisoner  he  rode  to  Stand-off.  reined  his  horse 
at  the  door  of  the  police  detachment,  made  sure 
that  the  boys  were  watching  him  through  the  win- 
dows, then  fired  at  their  pet  dog.  So  he  was 
brought  as  a  prisoner  to  Fort  French,  and  lodged 
in  the  cell  next  to  mine. 

Confinement  knocks  the  morals  out  of  any  In- 
dian, so  after  the  first  night  this  poor  chap  was 
lonely  and  frightened.  I  was  bored  to  tears,  and 
both  of  us  were  glad  to  have  a  gossip.  Thus,  before 
we  had  heard  each  other's  names  or  seen  each 
other's  faces,  we  were  fast  friends,  whispering 
Blackfoot  through  a  knot-hole  in  the  bulkhead. 

We  talked  through  Saturday  afternoon  and  Sun- 
day, we  gossiped  in  the  sign  language  when  out  at 
work  on  Monday.  By  Monday  evening,  I  had 
given  him  full  directions  for  finding  and  killing 
Boy-drunk-in-the-moming,  his  sister's  lover,  his 
mortal  enemy. 

And  so  he  told  me  the  story  of  Rain's  adventures 
during  the  Winter  of  Death. 


68   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


IV 


When  the  buffalo  hunting  failed,  Many  Horses 
took  his  women  and  diildren  up  into  the  val- 
leys of  the  World-Spine  and  there,  through  the 
moon  of  falling  leaves,  they  had  meat  in  plenty. 
But  when  cold  weather  came,  he  and  his  woman 
Owl-calling-"Coming,"  out  hunting  far  from  camp, 
got  snowed  up  for  more  than  a  week.  Only  after 
much  prayer  and  sacrifices  to  Old  Man  were  they 
able  to  climb  through  the  soft  snow  and  get  a 
back-load  of  meat  to  their  home  lodge  on  Cut-Bank 
Creek.    And  then  they  came  too  late. 

When  Many  Horses  told  me  that,  I  had  my  eye 
at  the  knot-hole  to  watch  the  sign  talk.  He  finished 
with  a  sort  of  apologetic  squint  as  though  he  hated 
to  worry  me  with  trifles.  It  seems  that  toward  the 
end  of  the  long  waiting,  his  little  son,  aged  five, 
had  moved  to  the  chief's  place,  facing  the  door  of 
the  lodge,  and  there  said  family  prayers  with  the 
sacred  pipe  in  his  little  frozen  hands.  So  his  fa- 
ther found  him,  and  the  two  younger  wives  with  all 
the  children  sat  in  their  places,  dead. 

Owl-calling-"Coming"  ran  mad,  but  Many  Horses 
got  her  down  to  Two  Medicine  Lake,  hoping  for 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD 


69 


htunan  company  to  lure  her  spirit  back.  There  they 
found  a  lodge  with  Tail-Feathers  and  his  woman 
Rain,  dying  of  hunger. 

It  was  in  a  dry,  cold,  dreary  way  that  Many 
Horses  answered  my  questions  concerning  his  sis- 
ter Rain.  She  had  married  Tail-Feathers  because 
he  wished  her  to.  Now  she  was  very  poor,  her 
property  and  that  of  her  man  being  sold  for  food 
in  the  early  days  of  the  famine.  Moreover,  instead 
of  hunting,  Tail-Feathers  would  tumble  down  dead 
and  lie  doggo,  until  Rain  snared  a  rabbit  and  he 
smelt  food.  But  the  big  snow  had  put  an  end  to 
Rain's  poor  foraging,  and  the  man  lay  doggo  while 
the  woman  prayed. 

It  was  then  she  vowed  that  if  her  man  got  well 
she  would  dedicate  a  temple  to  the  Sun  God.  Rain's 
prayers  were  very  strong,  for  sure  enough  her 
brother  came  with  meat,  and  her  man  got  well.  So 
she  sat  for  days  chirping  and  twittering  like  a  small 
brown  squirrel  while  she  fed  her  man  with  soup, 
and  his  strength  returned.  In  those  days.  Owl 
thawed  to  weeping,  and  her  spirit  came  back  to  her 
body. 

When  all  the  meat  was  finished.  Rain's  secret 
helper  came  in  a  dream  bidding  her  send  the  two 
men,  Tail-Feathers,  her  husband,  and  Many  Horses, 


70   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


her  brother,  to  steal  ponies  from  the  Stone-hearts, 
and  use  them  for  hunting  the  white  man's  buffalo 
(cattle).  The  men  obeyed  and  very  soon  her  lodge 
was  red  with  meat. 

Now  it  was  time,  said  Rain,  to  lay  her  vow  be- 
fore the  chiefs  in  council,  so  they  brokt^  camp  and 
went  down  to  the  agency.  There  they  found  the 
great  chiefs  begging  the  agent  to  have  mercy  upon 
their  people,  for  already  a  fourth  part  of  them 
were  dead,  and  the  rest  were  dying. 

But  the  agent  fed  their  com  to  his  fat  chickens, 
and  said  he  was  grieved  at  the  deplorable  supersti- 
tions of  the  Indians.  Then  the  chiefs  starved  in 
council  until  Rain  sent  them  a  pony-load  of  meat, 
so  that  their  hearts  were  warm,  and  they  consented 
to  her  plea.  If  the  tribe  lived  at  the  full  moon,  in 
the  moon  of  falling  leaves  she  should  be  made 
a  priestess,  and  dedicate  a  temple  to  the  Sun. 

"My  prayer  is  heard,"  she  said,  in  her  great  joy. 
"My  man  is  saved  from  death,  the  Sun  has  given 
us  food,  and  the  animals  will  be  kind  to  us  and  pity 
us.  In  three  suns,  the  wicked  agent  will  be  sent 
away,  and  there  will  be  food  for  all  our  people." 

Three  days  were  scarcely  past  before  a  big  Stone- 
heart  chief  arrived  at  the  agency,  who  gave  the 
com  and  the  agent's  chickens  to  feed  the  dying 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  71 

women  crouched  beside  the  gate.  The  wicked  agent 
was  sent  away  in  shame,  and  a  wagon  train  of  the 
Long  Knives  (United  States  cavalry)  brought  food 
for  all  the  people.  Surely  Rain's  medicine  was  very 
strong! 

But  as  it  happened,  the  trader,  Bad  Mouth,  to- 
gether with  his  woman,  and  his  daughter,  Got-Wet, 
were  staying  at  the  agency,  and  when  they  heard 
that  Rain  was  to  be  made  priestess  of  the  sun,  they 
put  a  rumor  about  that  she  was  unclean.  She  had 
lived,  said  Got-Wet,  with  a  white  man  disguised  as 
an  Indian,  aye  and  traveled  with  him  all  last  sum- 
mer. The  chiefs  had  chosen  a  harlot  to  be  their 
sacred  woman. 

Many  there  are  among  us  who  see  appearances 
only,  who  live  to  keep  up  appearances,  even  as  a 
coffin  does  with  varnishing  and  brass-work  though 
that  within  is  something  less  than  man.  Tail-Fea- 
thers  had  kept  up  appearances  as  became  a  virtuous 
husband  as  long  as  Rain's  wealth  lasted,  and  now 
must  make  up  appearance  as  an  outraged  husband, 
c-iting  his  woman  out  of  the  lodge  which  was  all 
!hat  remained  of  her  dowry.  She  sat  in  the  snow, 
her  head  covered  with  ashes,  hiding  her  face  from 
women  she  had  fed,  who  passed  by  holding  their 
noses.    Even  Many  Horses  believed  her  guilty,  but 


73   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


Owl  bought  her  a  little  lorli^e  lest  she  should  die  of 
cold. 

For  two  days  the  chiefs  debated  her  case  in  coun- 
cil and  Many  Horses,  though  he  believed  her  guilty, 
would  not  allow  his  fellows  to  accuse  ais  sister.  At 
the  end,  he  brought  her  before  them  u  j'ldgment, 
she  standing  woefully  frightened,  v  ji  clenched 
teeth  and  fists  lest  her  timid  feet  shculd  be  tempted 
to  run  away. 

"Woman,"  said  the  Wd  chief,  Medicine  Robe, 
"we  know  that  your  mysterious  power  saved  your 
man  from  death.  We  know  that  your  dream  fore- 
told the  coming  of  the  Long  Knives  with  food  for 
our  dying  people.  We  have  heard  your  claim  to  be 
a  sacred  woman,  and  we  may  not  deny  that  right 
lest  we  offend  the  Spirit  in  the  Sun. 

"Yet  by  our  law,  no  woman  may  be  priestess  un- 
less her  man  declares  her  a  wife  and  mother  of 
clean  life. 

"Your  man  accuses  you  of  bcioK  a  harlot  He 
asks  that  your  nose  may  be  cut  off  as  a  warning  to 
all  the  people.  Come,  I  promise  full  pardon  if  you 
Confess  your  guilt." 

"Am  I  a  harlot,"  Rain  answered  angrily,  "be- 
cause I  was  sister  to  a  helpless,  useless  boy?  Would 


^        THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         73 

God  have  spared  my  man  because  a  harlot  prayed? 
Would  God  have  sent  food  to  our  people  but  for 
this  mysterious  power  virhich  is  in  me?  Let  God  be 
my  judge  I" 

The  head  chief  was  sorely  troubled.  "If  you  are  a 
harlot,"  he  said,  "and  we  make  you  a  priestess  to  de- 
file the  holy  ground,  to  profane  the  House  of  the 
Sun,  your  death  is  nothing  to  us  wL'  1:  God  stamps 
out  our  fires.  Once  more  I  offer  mercy.  You  are 
free  to  go,  so  we  never  again  shall  see  your  face." 

Rain  clutched  at  her  breasts  with  both  hands. 
"And  my  baby,"  she  cried,  "my  baby  that  is  to 
come— shall  it  be  called  the  White  Man's  Sin?  Do 
you  think  I  will  go  away  like  a  guilty  woman,  and 
have  my  baby  shamed?  I  stay,  and  in  the  name  of 
God,  I  demand  my  right  to  prove  myself  clean,  a 
faithful  wife,  an  honorable  mother,  a  sacred 
woman." 

"Then  we  must  open  the  Sun  Lodge,"  answered 
Medicine  Robe,  'not  by  the  Blackfoot,  but  by  the 
Absaroka  rites.  Among  the  Sparrowhawk  people 
the  sacred  woman  comes  up  from  the  river  bearing 
a  fagot  of  wood,  and  a  bucket  of  water.  She 
walks  to  the  Sun  Lodge,  there  to  make  fire,  to  boil 
water,  to  keep  house  for  the  Holy  Spirit." 


II 


74      THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"I  am  content,"  said  Rain. 

"But,"  said  the  chief,  "her  path  is  lined  on  either 
side  by  all  the  warriors,  and  they  will  see  that  no 
woman  suspected  of  foul  life  shall  reach  God's 
house,  for  if  any  man  knows  that  she  has  sinned, 
he  must  thrust  a  spear  through  her  body,  and  all 
the  men  must  bathe  their  weapons  in  her  blood. 

"Are  you  content?" 

"I  am  content." 

"In  the  moon  of  falling  leaves,  at  the  full  moon, 
the  Sun  Lodge  shall  be  built  at  Two  Medicine  Lake, 
and  there  you  shall  walk  through  the  lane  of  war* 
riors,  to  die  as  a  harlot,  or  to  live  as  a  sacred 
woman." 

"And  I  shall  live,"  said  Rain. 

Many  Horses,  being  of  crossed  vision,  confused 
the  issues.  He  was  shocked  that  his  own  sister 
should  be  accused,  indignant  with  her  for  being 
condemned  to  death,  but  most  of  all,  enraged 
against  the  white  man  who  had  caused  the  scandal. 
In  his  poor  stupid  heart,  his  honor  was  the  impor- 
tant thing  at  stake,  and  not  his  sister"?  innocence 
and  life.  So  he  came  to  find  me  oiat  iind  kill  me, 
then  take  the  consequences  as  became  a  chief. 

"Your  sister,"  I  told  him,  "has  two  friends,  two 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD 


7S 


champions.    So  one  must  be  murdered  and  the  other 
hanged.    Then  Rain  will  have  no  friends." 
He  had  not  thought  of  that 


ir.i 


Our  superintendent  commanding  was  painfully 
short  of  men,  with  half  his  troop  out  on  the 
plains,  while  the  rest  had  staff  jobs  exempting  them 
from  duty.  At  the  great  ten  o'clock  parade,  the 
orderly  officers,  sergeant-major  and  orderly  cor- 
poral would  assemble  to  hear  one  rookie  answer  his 
name  for  recruit  drill,  stable  orderly,  mess  fatigue 
and  odd  jobs.  So,  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight's  rest 
in  the  cells  I  received  a  hint  that  an  apology  to  In- 
spector Sarde  would  win  me  back  my  freedom,  to 
do  half  the  work  of  the  post.  I  asked  leave  to  ap- 
pear before  Superintendent  Fourmet,  and  when  I 
was  paraded  at  the  orderly  room,  was  so  jolly  glad 
to  see  the  old  chap  again  that  I  could  not  help  smil- 
ing brightly. 

"Prisonnier,"  said  Wormy,  "you  withdraw  the 
tripe  'ound  ?" 

"Yes,  sir."  I  cocked  up  one  eye  at  Sarde. 

."You  apologize?" 


Midocarr  resoiution  tbt  cha«t 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


I  1.8 


^  /APPLIED  ItvMGE    Inc 

B^— ;  16S3  East  Wain  StrMi 

S'.S  Rocftnlar.   N«w  York         14609       USA 

^=  (''6)  «2  -  0300  -  Phon* 

SS^  (716)  2Ba  -  59B9  -  Fax 


76   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  said  it" 

"Bien!  You  promise  to  be'ave?" 

"For  six  months,  sir;  till  the  moon  of  falling 
leaves." 

"Eh?  Vat  you  means?" 

"Then  I'll  put  in  for  a  pass,  if  you  please,  sir, 
and  blow  off  steam  outside." 

Bubbles  of  suppressed  joy  disturbed  the  serenity 
of  the  court.    I  always  find  joy  pays. 

"Return  to  duty,"  said  Wormy. 

"About  tur-r-n!  Mai;-r-r-ch  I"  said  the  sergeant- 
major. 

But  I  snatched  my  forage  cap  out  of  his  hand, 
jammed  it  on  and  threw  a  salute. 

"May  I  speak,  sir?" 

"You  are  permit  to  spik." 

"Release  the  Indian,  sir,  and  let  me  serve  his 
sentence.  Please,  sir,  the  poor  devil's  a  friend  of 
mine.  He's  innocent,  and  belongs  to  the  South  Pie- 
gans,  so  what's  the  good  of  wasting  government 
grub  to  feed  a  United  States  Indian.  If  he's  free, 
sir,  you  won't  need  a  guard." 

"Stoff  a  nonsense.  You  would  be  prisonnier! 
How  you  say  no  guard  ?" 

"Oh,  sir,  that's  all  right.  I'll  keep  the  guard- 
house dean  and  lock  myself  in  at  night." 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  tj 

Dear  Wormy  loved  a  joke.    "You  say  zees  In- 
dians he  is  ennocent,  heinT  How  you  know?" 
"I  talk  Blackfoot,  sir." 
"Veil  done,  my  boy  I  Veil  done." 
"He's  in  for  shooting  up  a  dog.    Can't  be  done, 
sir.    His  rifle  used  to  be  mine— so  I  know  it  shoots 
round  comers,  and  that  dog,  sir,  is  all  comers. 
Why,  sir,  if  you  aim  at  a  cow  with  that  old  gun  you 
have  to  fire  backward.     The  Blackfeet  are  rotten 
shots,  anyway,  and  this  man's  a  champion  misser 
with  a  squint.    Let  him  off,  sir." 
"You  offer  to  serve  hees  sentence?" 
"Yes.  sir." 
"Can  you  proof  hee's  not  guilty?" 

"You  have  my  word  of  honor,  and  his  squint, 
sir." 

"Humph  1  You  .tan  go  to  your  duty." 
I  cleared  out  quick  lest  Wormy  should  change 
his  mind,  and  whistled  piercing  shrills  to  Rich 
Mixed  across  the  square. 

For  Many  Horses,  that  day  was  one  of  bewilder- 
ment.  From  the  interpreter  he  learned  that  I  was 
the  very  man  he  had  come  to  kill,  that  I  had  offered 
to  serve  his  sentence  for  him,  and  that  he  was  par- 
doned. On  his  release  at  sundown  I  met  him  out- 
side the  gates  and  gave  him  a  long  knife,  just  bor- 


I'll 


r 


78   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

rowed  from  the  cook-house.    "You  came,"  said  I, 
"to  kill  me.    When  does  the  fun  begin  ?" 

For  a  long  time  he  stood  looking  down  into  my 
eyes,  then  swung  the  knife  close  to  my  ribs  to  see 
if  I  would  flinch. 
"Frightened?"  I  asked. 

He  dropped  the  knife  between  us  in  the  snow. 
"If  I  kill  you,"  he  muttered,  "and  they  hang  me. 
Rain  will  have  no  friends." 

I  gave  him  some  tobatco  and  my  pipe.  Then  we 
sat  down  in  the  snow  and  smoked,  while  some  of 
the  bo>s  were  jeering  at  us  from  the  gateway.  But 
we  spoke  in  signs  and  in  Blackfoot,  so  that  they  did 
not  understand. 

The  man's  very  slow  mind  was  working  out  new 

ideas.    "We  are  Rain's  friends,"  he  said,  holding 

the  pipe  to  the  four  winds,  to  sky,  and  then  to  earth. 

"And  we  believe,"  I  said,  "that  she  is  innocent." 

He  made  the  sign  of  assent. 

"You  are  ready,"  I  asked,  ^'to  stake  your  Ufe 

that  Rain  is  innocent?" 

"You  and  I,"  he  answered,  "are  her  brothers." 
"I  was  her  brother." 

"Then,"  he  said,  clasping  my  hand,  "I  give  you 
my  name,  and  call  you  Many  Horses.  I  take  your 
new  name,  Charging  Buffalo," 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         79 

He  oflfered  me  blood  brotherhood,  the  greatest 
honor  that  one  Indian  can  pay  to  another.  But  I 
laughed. 

"Vou,"  said  I,  "shall  be  Charging  Buffalo,  but 
I'm  too  poor  to  be  called  Many  Horses.  My  name 
shall  be  No-horses-but-wants-to-owe-for-a-mule." 

He  shook  his  head,  bewildered,  and  made  the 
sign,  "No  good,"  flicking  his  fingers  at  me.  How 
dull  must  life  be  for  men  who  never  see  a  joke. 

"Go,"  said  I,  "tell  Rain  to  keep  her  courage  up, 
and  not  to  fuss."  So  I  made  the  moon  sign  and 
the  zigzag  fluttering  down  of  a  falling  I  "■  "1 
will  be  there  in  the  autumn." 


M« 


VI 

Think  of  your  sins. 
What  made  you  a  soldier  a-serving  the  Queen, 
Ood  save  the  Queen ! 

C^'J  ^.t  rr*  *^^  '''5"  ^''^  t'^'"'^^  °f  to-morrow, 
Ood  save  the  man  who  remembers  his  sorrow 
Ood  save  the  man  who  must  mourn  for  the  past 

Sundown  at  last. 
Here's  rest  for  the  past,  and  here's  hope  for  the 
morrow.  '^ 

That  is  what  the  bugle  said,  thrilling  the  clear 
dusk  with  torrential  music,  as  I  came  over  from 
seeing  my  frozen  Brat  in  hospital.     Rkh  Mixed 


I 


8o   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


I  ■  11 


ii 


danced  ahead  on  three  legs  sidewise,  while  his  eyes 
worshiped  me.  For  this  day  he  had  seen  me  at 
guard  mounting,  jchosen  as  cleanest  man  for  com- 
manding officer's  orderly.  The  bugle  thrilled  my 
bones,  my  heart  was  lifted  up  to  the  angel  glories, 
which  followed  the  sun  to  his  rest,  but  all  the  same 
to  me  most  beautiful  of  all  things  visible  were  the 
glowing  scarlet  of  my  own  serge  jacket,  the  poised 
forage  cap,  the  flash  ai\d  gleam  of  my  boots,  the 
silver  note  of  my  spurs,  as  I  swaggered  across  the 
parade  ground.  For  five  months,  I  had  been  a 
beauteous  example  of  piety  in  humble  life,  and 
though  I  was  rather  stiff  from  yesterday's  patrol 
of  sixty  miles,  both  loveliness  and  virtue  were  my 
portion.  Rich  Mixed  lay  on  his  back  to  pant  with 
adoration,  and  my  riding  whip  flicked  him  ten- 
derly as  I  passed.  For,  in  that  instant,  I  thought 
of  Rain.  All  my  hopes,  dreams  and  desire  made 
throne  and  clouds  and  rainbows  for  her  court. 

In  thirty  days  more,  I  was  to  die  for  her,  and  had 
no  other  wish  or  expectation. 

Close  in  the  wake  of  the  bugle  music  came  the 
soft,  distant,  mournful  howl  of  a  wolf.  That  was 
Rain's  call  I 

Oh,  then  I  knew  I  had  been  too  good  too  long. 
With  a  sigh  for  departed  virtue,  I  swung  off  round 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  8i 

the  stables,  dodged  behind  then-    .limbed  the  ma- 
nure heap  piled  against  the  stock     .,  and  there  stood 
looking  out  across  the  plains.     From  somewhere 
dose  at  hand  in  the  dusk,  I  heard  a  most  seductive 
little  howl.     At  that,  I  sent  Rich  Mixed  home, 
dropped  lighUy  down  the  outer  side  of  the  rampart, 
and  pounded  across  the  boulder  flats  tmtil  I  saw  a 
little  heap  of  something  up  against  the  sky-line. 
"Oo-oo!"  said  the  little  heap,  and  "Oo-oo-ool" 
I  scrambled  up  the  bank  of  Old  Man's  River  and 
whispered:  "Is  that  you?" 
"Oo." 

Sd  I  squatted,  with  ominous  cracks  at  the  seams, 
on  one  spurred  heel,  then  lighted  a  cigarette,  so  she 
might  see  my  little  new  mustache.  "Well,"  I 
puffed,  with  becoming  condescension.  "What's  up  ?" 
Of  course,  I  adored  her,  but  with  a  woman  it 
never  pays  to  be  monotonous,  for  if  she  knows  ex- 
actly what  to  expect,  she  loses  interest. 

"Once,  in  the  very-long-ago-time,"  she  crooned, 
in  a  sing-song  voice,  "there  used  to  be  a  queer  per^ 
son  called  Boy-drunk-in-the-moming." 

"Oh,  boshl"  said  I,  hating  the  memory  of  such  a 
name.    "You  mean  Charging  Buffalo." 

"Um?"  With  one  wicked  eye  cocked  up,  she 
moued  at  me.    And  that  struck  me  cold,  for  she 


»     P 


82   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


had  never  flirted.     "I  used  to  like  being  kissed," 
and  she  turned  the  other  cheek. 

"You  little  liar,"  sr.id  I,  disgusted,  "you  never 
once  let  me  kiss  you,  made  me  swear  I'd  go  to  hell 
if  I  touched  you.  Why,  half  the  time  you  wouldn't 
let  me  into  your  lodge,  so  I  had  to  freeze  outside. 
And  when  it  was  warm,  you  slept  outside  yourself. 
And  when  I  said  I'd  let  you  be  my  woman,  you 
went  and  married  Tail-Eeathers." 

"Still,"  she  crooneJ,  "I  like^  your  attempts  at 
kisses,  and  cuddles,  yes,  and  little  wee,  tender 
scratches  round  my  neck." 

The  seductive  little  rogue  I  And  yet  how  could  a 
buck  policeman  in  barracks  run  his  own  squaw  on 
fifty  cents  a  day — and  keep  our  wolf  pack  out  of 
her  teepee — and  not  be  caught  by  the  authorities? 
Think  of  the  chaflf,  Sarde  spying,  the  fury  of  the 
officer  commanding,  the  disgrace  to  the  service  I 

Besides,  there  was  something  wrong,  something 
artificial,  unreal,  unworthy  about  Rain  to-night.  It 
was  not  to  a  cheap  flirt  I  had  given  the  worship 
due  to  my  mother,  and  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

"Go  back  to  your  man,"  I  said  sternly,  "it's  his 
job  to  scratch  your  neck." 

"I  come,"  she  purred,  "to  be  your  woman." 

"I'll  see  you  damned  first!"  I  rose  to  go. 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         83 

Then  Rain  stood  up  erect,  all  pride  and  joy,  hold- 
ing a  baby  at  her  breast,  for  all  the  world  like  the 
great  sacred  pictures  of  Our  Lady. 

"See,"  she  whispered.  "My  own  man,  Tail- 
Feathers,  has  a  baby  son.  I  nurse  this  ever-so-small 
Two  Bears.  I  love  him,  oh,  so  dearly.  Isn't  he 
beautiful  I" 

"The  deuce."  It  wrenched  my  heart  to  think 
what  might  have  been-my  child,  my  happiness. 

"Growls-like-a-Bear.  Says  'Woof I  Woof!'  be- 
cause I  love  my  son  I" 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,"  said  I  in  a  jealous  rage.  "It's 
nothing  to  me.  Once  we  were  sister  and  brother, 
you  and  I,  innocent  children  playing  in  camp,  and 
on  the  trail,  playing  at  being  grown  up.  You  never 
were  my  woman." 

Then  al'  about  me  in  the  gloaming,  I  heard  a  rip- 
ple of  laughter,  and  one  by  one  there  rose  up  out  of 
the  dusk  gaunt  Indians,  trying  not  to  laugh  lest 
they  should  seem  ill-mannered.  One  grand  old 
chief  lifted  his  head,  palm  forward,  to  the  stars, 
making  the  peace  sign.  "My  son,"  he  said,  "I  ask 
you  to  shake  hands,  after  the  way  of  your  people." 
"How !"  came  the  greetings  all  around  me.  "How, 
Shermogonish!  Greeting,  soldier!  We  all  want  to' 
shake  hands." 


'1. 


^fei 


I  :M 


U  liii 


i 


84   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"My  son,"  said  the  head  chief,  "you  are  a  Stone- 
heart  We  believe  that  your  tribe  are  like  ghosts, 
because  you  have  no  hearts,  and  do  not  really  live. 
Because  you  have  no  heart,  our  daughter.  Rain,  is 
innocent." 

My  memory  flashed  back  to  that  world  I  had  left 
behind  me  ever  so  many  weeks  ago,  to  happy  par- 
ishes in  Mayfair  and  St.  James's,  where  men  were 
simple  and  unpretentious,  frank  and  kind.  So  I 
saluted  Medicine  Robe  as  one  would  address  a  min- 
ister of  state,  expecting  a  blessing  from  Mad  Wolf 
as  though  he  were  a  cardinal,  and  felt  that  Flac 
Tail  was  a  retired  general  who  had  led  an  a.my  in 
battle  not  so  long  ago.  Then  there  was  Many 
Horses,  my  blood  brother.  I  was  so  glad  to  see 
them! 

"My  son,"  said  the  head  chief,  throwing  his 
robe  wide  open,  disclosing  the  bow  in  his  hand,  the 
arrows  at  his  belt.  "I  came  to  kill  you.  It  is  well 
I  waited.    You  will  eat  in  my  lodge  ?" 

I  said  I  was  hungry  enough  to  eat  the  lodge. 

So  they  escorted  me,  walking  in  single  file,  with 
feet  straight  to  the  front,  as  softly  shod  people  do, 
lest  they  should  bruise  their  toes  against  the  trail 
edge.  When  we  came  to  the  lodge,  the  head  chief 
took  his  seat  with  his  guest  and  the  men  on  his  left. 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         85 

his  wife  and  all  the  women  on  the  r.'tht.  We  had 
an  Absaroka  sausage,  full  of  intere-.  and  excite- 
ment as  a  haggis.  Chicago  bully  beef,  and  a  dish 
of  berries,  with  graceful  acts  of  tribute  to  the  gods, 
and  the  decorous  ceremony  of  the  pipe  to  follow.' 
Then  Medicine  Robe,  as  host,  spoke  with  a  tender 
irony  of  the  white  n^en,  but  said  that  some  were 
straight  even  as  Rising  Wolf,  his  oldest  friend.  For 
Charging  Buffalo  had  given  courtesy  to  Rain,  his 
daughter,  and  lately  delivered  Many  Horses  from 
prison. 

Mad  Wolf  spoke  ne::t  with  grave  sweet  dignity. 

saying  that  his  prayers  were  answered  as  to  Rain. 

They  knew  her  powerful  medicine  came  of  a  pure 

life,  and  as  a  sacred  woman  she  would  bring  good 

fortune  to  the  people. 

But  Many  Horses  said,  "Let  us  wait  till  after  the 
storm  before  we  dry  our  clothes.  Seme  of  the 
chiefs  are  seeking  my  sister's  death,  and  her  own 
man  has  sworn  to  kill  her  at  the  Medicine  Lodge. 
I  ask  my  white  brother  to  attend  the  holy  rites  of 
the  Sun  God,  and  tell  the  people  he  has  dons  no  evi! 
to  our  sacred  woman." 

On  this,  the  white  brother  made  his  first  speech 
in  Blackfoot,  with  a  strong  foreign  accent,  some- 
what to  this  effect:    "I've  been  most  frightfully 


■  t-  n 


86   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


I 


good  for  five  whole  moons,  because  I'm  putting  in 
for  a  pass  in  civvies,  for  the  moon  of  falling  leaves 
on  urgent  private  business;  and  the  Great  White 
Chief,  Old  Wormy,  will  have  to  stretch  his  heart  to 
the  size  of  a  kit-bag  before  he'll  trust  me  out  of 
sight  in  the  dark.  His  heart  is  small  this  week, 
because  somebody  stuffed  his  parrot  till  it  bust. 

"Unless  he  believes  I  bust  his  bird,  I  think  he'll 
be  all  right.  My  little  brother.  Brat,  has  lent  me 
his  cowboy  kit.  I'd  have  his  horses,  too,  but  Brat 
lost  them  at  poker  to  the  hospital  orderly.  Look 
here.  Many  Horses,  your  white  brother  wants  you 
to  come  with  a  spare  pony,  and  show  me  the  way  to 
your  circus." 

"It  is  good,"  sighed  my  blood  brother,  who  dis- 
liked lending  his  ponies. 

"All  right,"  said  I,  "that  sausage  has  made  my 
heart  warm  to  my  Indian  fathers,"  I  waved  my 
hand  to  the  women,  "and  aunts,  and  things.  I'll 
be  on  hand  at  the  medicine  joint  to  speak  with  per- 
sons who  talk  bad  about  Rain,  and  I've  put  in  five 
months'  pay  at  revolver  practise. 

"Now  look  here,  you  chaps,  excuse  my  country 
manners,  but  that's  'First  post'  sounding  in  barracks 
now,  so  I'll  have  to  run  like  a  rabbit  to  be  in  time 
for  roll-call.    If  I'm  late,  I'll  be  disemboweled  and 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         8; 

fined  five  dollars.    So  long.  Chief.    Cheer  up,  lit- 
tie  girl." 

I  bolted,  leaving  the  Piegan  chiefs  to  preserve 
their  ceremonial  gravity,  while  the  women  rocked 
and  sobbed  with  hysterical  laughter. 


vn 

On  the  eve  of  my  furlough,  "to  attend  the  fu- 
neral of  an  aunt  at  Billings,"  I  was  accus-d  by 
the  sergeant-major  of  bursting  the  esteemer  rreen 
parrot  of  my  commanding  officer;  and  for  giving 
cheek  got  one  month  confined  to  barracks. 

Also  the  Brat,  in  an  attempt  to  win  back  his 
horses,  played  cards  with  the  hospital  orderly,  and 
whereby  he  lost  his  cowboy  kit,  a  residuary  inter- 
est in  Rich  Mixed  subject  to  owner's  decease,  a 
three-pound  pot  of  greengage  jam  and  my  new  pri- 
vate revolver. 

To  crown  all,  I  was  warned  for  mess  fatigue,  so 
that  when  I  bolted  I  would  be  missed  at  daybreak. 
Thus  dogged  by  undeserved  misfortune,  I  as- 
suaged my  grief  by  playing  tards  with  the  hospital 
orderly.  If  he  won,  he  was  to  have  two  black  eyes, 
an  inflamed  nose  and  a  complete  set  of  fractures, 
as  shown  on  a  chart  in  the  surgery.    Perhaps  this 


88   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

medicine  man  preferred  not  to  be  greedy,  for  he 
lost  three  horses,  a  cowboy  kit  and  stock  saddle,  a 
.38  seven-chambered  blue  Merwin  and  Hulbert  re- 
volver with  adjustable  three-inch  and  six-inch  bar- 
rels, a  pot  of  jam,  a  residuary  interest,  thirty-two 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  in  cash,  and  the  cook's 
I.  O.  U.  on  a  sucking  pig. 

Much  soothed,  I  addressed  a  private  note  to  the 
(commanding  officer,  in  which  I  told  him  that  I  had 
not  spoiled  his  parrot,  but  tendered  in  its  place  a 
tame  whisky-jack,  who  could  swear  in  French  al- 
most as  well  as  himself.  With  regard  to  breaking 
barracks  and  being  absent  four  days  without  leave, 
I  felt  bound  to  do  so  on  a  point  of  honor,  but  left 
Rich  Mixed  as  a  pledge  of  my  return  to  take  my 
punishment. 

The  letter,  the  whisky-jack  and  the  dog  were  to 
be  delivered  after  breakfast,  when  Wormy  was  al- 
ways peaceful. 

The  moment  after  roll-call,  I  told  the  corporal  of 
my  barrack  room  that  I  had  an  appointment  to 
smash  up  the  man  who  had  busted  old  Wormy's 
parrot.  As  it  transpired,  I  had  already  done  so, 
but  the  corporal  seemed  pleased,  and  would  not 
expect  me  back  before  he  fell  asleep.  At  the  sta- 
bles, I  changed  into  cowboy  kit,  then  took  my  newly- 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         89 

won  saddle  to  the  manure  heap,  where  I  dropped 
it  outside  the  stockade,  and  jumped  down  myself. 
Many  Horses  was  waiting  with  his  ponies,  and  so 
I  saddled  one  and  we  rode  away,  bound  for  the 
herd  camp.  There  lived  Brat's  ponies  which  I  had 
won  from  the  hospital  orderly,  but  the  event  of 
stealing  them  fell  quite  flat,  since  they  were  now 
my  property.  My  blood  brother's  Indian  silence 
got  rather  on  my  nerves. 

We  rode  breast-deep  in  a  silver  mist,  while  the 
moon  came  glowing  like  a  coal  above  the  frosty 
levels  in  the  East,  and  swung  the  stars  blind  across 
the  awful  silence.  Once  in  two  hours,  we  rested 
and  took  fresh  horses,  at  times  would  flounder 
through  some  deadly  river,  or  pass  a  sleeping  herd 
of  the  range  cattle,  or  clatter  down  the  steeps  of 
hills  invisible.  Then  the  slow  dawn  merged  into 
frosty  daylight,  while  on  our  right  Chief  Moun- 
tain, a  snow-draped  cube  of  limestone,  captain  of 
the  Rockies,  glowed  in  the  sun's  red  glory  as  he 
rose.  We  passed  the  Medicine  Line  and  entered 
the  United  States,  quite  safe  from  all  pursuit. 

Toward  noon,  when  a  hundred  and  ten  miles 
had  given  us  a  taste  for  food  and  sleep,  Mount 
Rising  Wolf  was  high  against  the  sun,  edged  with 
an  icy  silver  to  where  its  wall  fell  sheer  into  blue- 


Qj 

Si 

ifi 

ii'  h 

1 

t 
I 

it    miuiiima 


I 


90   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

gray  shadows.  Then,  while  the  ridged  and  fur- 
rowed plain  still  seemed  to  sweep  straight  on  into 
that  shadow,  with  staggering  abruptness  a  valley 
opened  right  before  our  feet,  miles  wide,  of  lake, 
meadow  and  timber.  We  looked  down,  through 
scattered  Douglas  pines,  upon  a  circle  of  teepees  a 
mile  in  girth,  each  tawny  lodge  of  bison  hide  painted 
with  unnatural  history  animals,  rows  of  dusty  stars, 
or  symbols  of  lightning,  flood,  or  a  protecting  spirit. 
The  smoke  of  feasts  went  up  from  within  the 
lodges,  the  children  played  about  them,  gamblers 
squatted  chanting  over  the  stick  game,  crowds  in 
their  gayest  best  watched  some  old  battle  played  by 
warriors,  and  round  the  tent-ring  crept  a  gorgeous 
procession  of  mounted  men,  singing  some  tribal 
hymn. 

Midway  between  tamp  and  lake,  stood  a  tall  post, 
whence  dangled  a  faggot  of  sticks,  and  round  it 
was  a  circular  fence  of  branches  sloping  inward  as 
though  to  form  a  dome,  not  quite  roofed  over.  This 
was  the  Sun's  house,  completed  after  four  days  of 
ritual  preparation,  and  now  awaiting  to-morrow's 
dedication.  Facing  its  east  doorway.  Rain  kept 
the  long  fast,  attended  by  celebrant  priests  and  sa- 
cred womea 
Many  Horses  unloaded  his  pack  pony,  and  after 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  9, 

making  pmyer  set  out  a  scrap  of  looking-glass  and 
an  array  of  face  paint,  to  put  on  symbolic  colors, 
with  all  the  gravity  of  a  white  nun  busy  shaving 
Next  he  adorned  his  war-horse,  who  showed  much 
pnde  and  joy.    Last,  he  put  on  his  own  ceremonial 
dress-a  quilled  and  beaded  buckskin  war-shirt,  em- 
broidered moccasins,  leggings   fringed  with  scalp 
locks,  a  coronal  of  eagle  plumes  and  a  painted  robe 
-each  with  its  proper  formula  of  prayer,  as  befit- 
ting the  whole  armor  of  righteousness,  which  we 
Christians  have  abandoned  since  it  went  out  of 
fashion.    I  helped  him  reload  the  pack  horse,  and 
then  he  passed  me  riding  his  war-horse  after  the 
manner  of  the  French  haut  Ecole.     No  horsemen 
m  the  world  rival  the  plain's  Indians  in  grace,  or 
the  Blackfeet  in  strength,  beauty  and  majesty  of 
bearing,  and  Many  Horses,  noblest  of  all  the  Pie- 
gan  leaders,  looked  gravely  pleased  with  his  mag- 
nificence.   As  we  rode  down  the  hill,  for  all  my  fine 
cowboy  gear,  I  felt  mean  and  common,  consigned  to 
the  lower  classes.     One  would  have  thought  this 
gallant  and  not  myself  had  come  to  challenge  the 
nation  as  Rain's  champion. 

My  reception  at  the  chief's  lodge  was  an  affair  of 
long  and  gracious  procedure,  which  I  marred  by 
chewLig  a  dried  cow-tongue,  and  finally  spoiled  by 


92   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

going  off  to  sleep  with  the  meat  in  my  mouth,  and 
rude  growls  when  disturbed.  While  still  I  slept, 
More  Bears,  the  dignified  public  crier,  drummed  his 
tound  of  the  camp  with  my  challenge. 

"Listen,  all  people,  to  the  words  of  Charging 
Buffalo,  adopted  s^  n  of  Medicine  Robe,  brother  of 
Many  Horses. 

"Who  says  I  slept  with  Rain  ?  Who  says  the  sa- 
cred woman  is  unclean?  Let  him  meet  me  in  sin- 
gle combat  to  the  death,  or  wash  his  mouth  and 
keep  himself  free  from  slander. 

"Does  Tail-Feathers  wish  to  prove  his  woman  a 
harlot  ?  Let  him  come  to  the  meadows  at  sundown 
and  make  his  words  good,  or  hold  his  peace  for- 
ever!" 

When  the  sun  was  nearing  the  World-Spine, 
Medicine  Robe  made  me  wake  up  for  coffee,  dog 
tired,  stiff  and  famished,  feeling  the  sick  reluctance 
toward  life  of  some  client  in  a  dentist's  anteroom, 
or  prisoner  given  a  nice  breakfast  prior  to  execu- 
tion. Presently,  I  was  to  be  taken  out  and  shot  by 
Tail-Feathers,  champion  rifle-shot  of  the  Blackfoot 
nation.  I  wished  I  were  somebody  else,  anybody 
anywhere  else,  yet  managed  to  conjure  up  a  pale 
ard  dismal  grin  when  Many  Horses  arr^'ed,  lead- 
ing his  painted  war-horse  and  bearing  his  splendid 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  93 

war-dress  as  gifts  for  his  white  brother.  In  return, 
I  gave  my  cowboy  kit  and  the  three  ponies,  quite 
sure  I  would  not  need  them  any  more.  Then  I  sat 
cross-legged,  forcing  myself  with  sick  distaste  to 
eat,  while  I  made  lamentable  jests  to  shock  my 
squinting  brother. 

Many  Horses  had  just  seen  Tail-Feathers  in  a 
frightful  passion,  showing  the  people  how  he  could 
shoot  at  full  gallop  using  his  carbine  with  one  hand 
like  a  pistol.  Kinsmen  were  rallying  to  his  support, 
whole  clans  were  painting  *hemselves  for  war,  the 
duel  might  well  be  prelude  to  a  battle,  and  the 
whole  outlook  was  extremely  black. 

"Don't  cheer  me  up  any  more,"  said  I,  thrusting 
the  food  away.  My  shoulder  ached  where  Tail- 
Feathers,  with  a  very  long  shot,  had  creased  my 
hide  only  a  year  ago. 

The  Piegan  chiefs  drifted  in,  each  leaving  his 
horse  at  the  lodge  door,  to  join  the  solemn  gather- 
ing a-.d  profound  misgivings,  while  I  twiddled  my 
small  revolver,  and  showed  them  the  tiny  pellets 
with  which  I  proposed  to  fight.  Flat  Tail  granted 
to  lend  me  a  roer,  a  young  cannon  warranted  at 
five  feet  to  split  a  grizzly  bear.  Iron  Shirt,  the  sar- 
castic, told  me  I'd  best  clear  out.  Medicine  Robe 
proposed  that  each  chief  raUy  his  clan  for  a  display 


94   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

of  ovc.  whelming  force,  lest  there  be  civil  war.  Cut 
I  explained  that  little  medidne-irons  like  my  small 
revolver  had  all  the  fierceness  of  the  biggest  cannon 
full  of  compressed  ferocity,  the  same  as  with  small 
d<^s.  I  sent  a  boy  with  one  of  my  cartridges  as  a 
gift  to  Tail-Feathers  who,  seeing  its  smallness, 
would  not  run  away.  That  set  the  chiefs  to  laugh- 
ing, and  I  went  on  chaffing  until  I  had  them  happy. 
The  honor  of  the  outfit  ,was  in  my  keeping,  the 
honor  of  the  flag,  the  honor  of  my  race.  I  pity 
cowards  who  daily  undergo  such  fears  as  I  had 
then,  and  suffer  the  throes  of  death  without  gain- 
ing death's  release. 

Five  months  of  daily  practise  at  the  cost  for  am- 
munition of  nearly  all  my  pay  had  proved  to  me  the 
virtue  of  my  little  killing  gun  up  to  three  hundred 
yards.  For  small  targets  it  outranged  my  oppo- 
nent's carbine.  Besides,  1 7:ad  filed  a  cross  on  the 
head  of  each  bullet  to  make  it  spread  like  a  mush- 
room, large  enough  to  put  a  bear  out  of  action. 
That  is  against  the  rules  of  war,  so  let  the  critic 
judge  me  who  has  faced  the  odds  himself,  and  with 
his  lone  gun  challenged  the  champion  of  a  savage 
tribe  in  face  of  all  his  kinsmen. 

Nothing  had  I  to  say  about  the  range  of  my 
weapon,  and  as  to  my  practise,  it  was  not  wise  to 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHCXJD         95 

brag.  Only  by  striking  awe  into  the  hearte  of  the 
Blackfoot  nation  could  I  save  the  woman  they  had 
sworn  to  sacrifice. 

Tne  chiefs  were  busy  helping  me  to  dress,  chant- 
ing the  prayers  which  go  with  sacred  garments,  and 
with  a  strange  thrill,  I  felt  that  these  men  loved  me.. 
They  roused  within  me  the  knighthood  of  my  fa- 
thers, that  ancient  chivalry  which  inspired  men  to 
fight  for  the  honor  of  ladies. 

And  now  I  remembered  my  spiritual  ancestor, 
the  knight  of  the  sorrowful  countenance,  el  Seiior 
Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha.  I  laughed  with  tri- 
umph as  the  chiefs  fell  back  when  I  stood  robed 
and  armed.  Then  I  breathed  the  Ave  in  prayer  to 
Our  Lady,  the  great  Queen  of  Heaven,  whom  I 
served,  defending  Her  woman.  Rain. 

The  chiefs  formed  my  mounted  escort  as  we  rode 
through  the  camp,  then  past  the  Medicine  Lodge, 
and  that  small  booth  where  little  Rain  sat  praying.' 
The  big  empty  meadow  was  before  us  now,  and 
here  on  our  right  were  all  the  people  massed  upon 
a  hiUside,  the  women  and  children  like  great  beds 
of  flowers,  the  men  in  clusters,  mounted,  their  war- 
plumes  at  large  upon  the  breeze.  On  our  left,  a 
solemn  grove  of  trees  in  autumn  gold  curved  with 
the  blue  lake  into  a  haze  of  purple  against  the 


96   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

mighty  cliffs  and  snow-fields  of  Mount  Rising  Wolf 
poised  like  a  cloud  in  the  windswept  blue  of  heaven. 
Ahead,  the  low  sun  filled  the  meadow  with  a  dust 
of  light. 

Then  came  a  sudden  impassioned  roar  of  warn- 
ing from  the  people,  the  chiefs  behind  me  stam- 
peded to  either  side  dear  of  the  line  of  fire,  and 
out  of  the  gold  haze  swept  a  rolling  globe  of  dust. 
Then  there  was  silence,  'save  that  the  dust  globe 
scattered,  revealing  the  earth-devouring  rush  of  a 
charging  horse. 

When  danger  comes  at  full  gallop,  there  is  no 
time  for  fear.  The  brain  works  at  lightning  speed, 
the  exalted  senses  live  a.i  hour  within  each  flying 
second.  To  shoot  from  the  saddle?  But  would 
this  horse  I  rode  stand  fire !  To  gallop  for  position 
broadside  to  that  glare?  Why  make  myself  a  tar- 
get! To  dismount,  for  cover  and  steady  aim  be- 
hind the  horse?  Most  certainly.  The  turf  was 
quivering.  Can't  see  the  man!  Only  fluttering 
p!  .mes  above  the  dust.  Can't  see  his  horse— but 
only  that  blur  of  black.  Point  the  forefinger  along 
the  barrel,  closing  the  hand.  Onet 

Tail-Feathers  fired  also.    His  bullet  whirred  quite 

close. 

Point,  closing  the  hand-Two!   Agiix^Three! 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD         97 

Down  went  the  Indian's  horse  with  a  shattered 
shoulder,  while  the  man  came  sailing  on  a  long 
curve  through  the  air,  head  down— smashing  to 
earth  on  the  nape  of  his  neck— while  the  dust  rolled 
away.  There  he  lay  black  against  the  glare,  head 
twisted  horribly  aside,  legs  twitching— stark  now 
in  the  rigor  of  death. 

I  swung  to  the  saddle  and  pricked  gently  forward, 
gun  covering  my  enemy  lest  he  show  signs  of  life. 
The  palms  of  my  hands  were  sweating,  my  body  all 
a-tremble,  heart  jumping,  brain  reeling,  in  a  great 
roar  of  voices.  Why  were  the  chiefs  yelling  as 
they  closed  round  me?  Like  a  hurricane,  the  Pie- 
gan  warriors,  thousands  strong,  came  charging  at 
me,  firing  at  me,  swirling  round  me  with  uproar, 
like  tumbling  waters— distant  waters— the  rush  of 
some  far-away  rapids— or  rain  at  night.  When 
my  head  cleared,  the  head  chief,  in  a  blaze  of  pas- 
sion, was  roaring  at  the  mob :  "Silence!  Fall  back  I 
Who  fights  my  son,  fights  me  I 

"Silence!  Silence!  Hear  me!  That  liar  defamed 
his  woman,  fouled  his  own  lodge,  slandered  the  holy 
servant  of  the  Sun,  insulted  God— and  died! 

",You  saw  him  die— not  in  fair  fight,  but  trying 
to  steal  an  advantage  over  my  son,  who  fought 
with  the  glare  in  his  eyes. 


98   THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Are  there  any  more  liars  here  to  slander  eur 
sacred  woman?  One  at  a  time — icome,  liars!  My 
son  and  I  and  all  your  chiefs,  are  ready  to  do  battle. 

"You,  Thtmder-Brooding,  will  you  dare  to  fight 
me?  You  helped  raise  the  slander.  Fight,  or  take 
your  shame  back  to  your  lodge,  you  dog-faced  cur. 
Get  home!" 

The  crowd  was  breaking,  sullen,  cursing  me  for 
a  Stone-heart,  muttering  'at  their  chiefs,  while  the 
mother  and  sisters  of  Tail-Feathers  began  to  wail 
for  their  dead,  appealing  for  vengeance. 

"My  son,"  said  the  big  chief  tenderly,  "the  an- 
ger of  the  people  turns  on  you,  and  my  young  men 
are  very  hard  to  hold.  We  chiefs  will  be  your  es- 
cort until  we  get  you  safe  out  of  this  crowd,  and 
your  brother.  Many  Horses,  will  ride  with  you  to 
Fort  French." 

I  was  not  allowed  to  see  the  sacred  woman. 

vm 


There  was  the  Union  Jack  ablaze  up  in  the 
sunshine  above  the  gray  stockade.  The  bugler  was 
sounding  "Evening  stables";  the  duty  men  would 
assemble,  ntmiber  off,  number  by  fours,  march  to 
the  stables,  break,  and  tend  the  horses.     It  was 


THE  AGE  OP  KNIGHTHOOD         99 

all  exactly  as  usual,  the  commonplace  of  life,  the  old 
routine,  the  dear  familiar  duty,  the  knowledge  of 
days  to  come  shaped  in  the  very  pattern  of  '"  lys 
past— even  if  one  dropped  in  from  another  world. 
Attended  by  Many  Horses.  I  rode  in  past  the 
guard. 

Eleven  poor  devils  were  on  parade  in  the  brown 
canvas  fatigue  dress,  with  brushes  and  curry  combs. 
The  orderly  corporal  was  calling  the  names,  he  and 
the  sergeant-major  in  scarlet  undress  uniform,  the 
fat  Inspector  Bultitude  in  black  undress,  with  a  sa- 
ber.   I  tumbled  off  my  horse  and  leaned  against  him 
reeling,  then  braced  myself  to  attention  and  saluted 
—the  back  of  my  hand  touching  the  great  rustling 
coronal  of  eagle  plumes,  as  I  faced  that  staring, 
grinning  and  convulsed  parade. 
"Come,  sir,"  I  reported,  "to  give  myself  up." 
"Drunk  I"  Bultitude  burbled  at  me.    "Bur-r-rl 
Disgrace!   Take  that  bur-r-r— man  to  the  guard- 
room, shove  him  bur-r-r— Cells." 

"Consider  yourself,"  said  the  corporal,  taking  me 
by  the  arm. 

The  air  ws-i  all  gray  fog,  and  the  corporal's  voice 
was  very  far  away.  "Come,  chuck  a  brace!  Stand 
up,  man."  The  ride  of  two  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  within  two  days  had  overtaxed  my  strength 


I 


loo  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


The  gray  fog  went  back,  against  the  walls  of 
old  Wormy's  drawing-room,  and  /he  hospital  ser- 
geant said  I  was  all  right  He  gave  me  more 
braiiu^    and  I  sat  up  quite  welL 

The  superintendent  commanding  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  stove,  and  Beef,  our  interpreter,  was 
questioning  Many  Horses.  My  Indian  brother 
spoke,  at  first  with  a  shy  dignity,  then  with  warmth, 
as  he  told  how  I  had  savjcd  Rain's  life,  and  lastly 
with  power,  as  he  strung  wild  flowers  of  native 
rhetoric  pronouncing  a  message  from  his  chief. 
When  he  forgot  his  lines,  I  prompted  him  in  whis- 
pers. 

"From  snake-tongued  agents,  land  thieves,  and 
Colonel  Baker  we  turn  in  our  despair  to  the  white 
North.  We  know  that  the  fires  of  the  north  mm — 
(the  northern  lights)  can  never  give  us  warmth, 
but  only  portend  the  storm.  Yet  we  put  up  our 
hands  to  that  glow  and  feel  some  comfort  from 
men  who  never  lie.  The  world  is  very  dark  for 
Indian  people.  To  show  our  hearts  toward  the 
mounted  police,  we  send  your  warrior  back  as  our 
adopted  son,  with  the  name,  the  dress,  the  ra:iK  of 
a  Blackfoot  chief." 

You  know  how  a  horse  has  a  child's  brain  with 
a  saint's  character.     My  Indian  brother  was  like 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD  ,o, 
that,  with  intellect  enough  to  run  «  errand,  and 
m«je.ty  of  character  that  made  him  wem  more  than 
humaa  He  .poke  for  a  conquered  and  dying  peo- 
ple, who  yet  were  a  master  race  more  spiritual  than 
ours.  Perhaps,  in  the  life  to  come,  we  may  be  their 
servants. 

Wormy  shook  hands  with  the  envoy  and  gave 
back  a  hearty  message  to  his  brother  chief,  then  sent 
off  Many  Horses  to  receive  the  hospitality  of  the 
tort. 

Tue  old  man  sat  down,  glaring  at  me.  for  we  were 
now  alone. 

"You  begin."  he  said,  in  his  native  French  patois. 

by  bunung  my  coal  wagon,  you  make  of  my  fort 

a  matrimonial  scandal,  you  steal  Monsieur  Sarde'- 

^g-box    you   explode   my  parrot,   you   call   me 

Wormy  behmd  my  back,  you  rogue,  you  write  that 

impudent  letter,  and  break  barracks,  you  mix  with 

those  savages  to  bring  disgrace  on  the  force,  you 

n-n  away  to  kill  an  American  Indian  and  embroil 

me  m  an  international  row  with  those  infernal 

states,  and  then  you  come  back  dressed  as  an  Indian 

chief  to  turn  my  troop  upside  down,  looking  so 

damned  innocent!" 

I  tried  to  look  like  an  orthodox  police  constable 
>n  a  scrape. 


¥  't 


I02     THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


"Please,  sir,"  said  I  in  French,  "I  gave  you  my 
word  I'd  be  good  for  six  months,  and  I've  been  too 
frightfully  good.  The  time  was  up,  sir,  on  Mon- 
day." 

"But  my  parrot?" 

"I  thrashed  the  man  who  did  that." 

"Who?" 

"Dunno,  sir." 

"I  see.  You  can  not  betray  a  comrade.  Still,  I 
should  like  to  know.    It  was  so  mean." 

"You'll  know,  sir.  He'll  be  the  first  deserter. 
We're  driving  him  out  of  the  force." 

"My  boys  don't  hate  me,  then?" 

I  couldn't  answer.  He  had  brought  up  tears 
which  I  had  to  swallow,  for  we  loved  him. 

Then  he  tried  English.  "Tink  yourself,  boy.  Le 
bon  Dieu.  He  send  my  wife  no  child,  an'  ze  pay — 
not  too  mcch  for  buy  tings  at  Hodsonbay  Com- 
pagnie,  so?  We  haf  not  the  life  of  luxury.  Vot 
haf  we  but  zee  troop,  an'  my  leetle  'orses,  eh?  So 
you  call  me  Wormy." 

"English  for  Fourmet,  sir." 

"Sol" 

"Men,  sir,  without  nicknames  don't  ccant. 
They're  not  worth  counting  when  there's  trouble 
coming." 


THE  AGE  OF  KNIGHTHOOD 


103 


"They  call  you  Blackguard." 
I  grinned. 

"Then,"  he  flashed  round  at  me.  "why  you  behave 
lak  dam' baby,  eh?" 
And  I  flashed  back,  "Were  you  never  young?" 
The  grizzled  superintendent  blushed  with  pleas- 
ure. "I  took  on,"  he  said,  "as  constable— Regi- 
mental Number  Six,  the  Constable  Fourmet.  But, 
my  boy,  I  try.  So  you  ?  Pooh !  You  burn  my  fort 
next  1    So  you  go  to  headquarters." 

"Oh,  not  that,  sir!"  I  pleaded.  "Can't  you  pun- 
ish me  here?"  For  I  thought  of  Rain. 

"And  I  shall  miss  you."  he  sighed  "Je  suis  Can- 
adien.  I,  too.  was  le  beau  ieigneur.  So  I  lak  not 
to  loose  a  gentUhomme  from  my  troop. 

"Now  you  caU  me  old  fool,  eh?  Go  ron  away— 
change  you  your  clothes.  Vitel  An' to-morrow  you 
report  at  orderly  room  to  take  your  medicine." 

So  we  shook  hands,  and  for  once  in  my  wicked 
life  I  shed  tears  of  remorse. 

I  had  sinned  against  the  discipline  of  the  force, 
attacking  the  foundations  of  the  public  safety. 

I  had  disturbed  the  serenity  of  the  Blackfoot 

nation,  the  most  formidable  savages  on  earth,  at  a 

time  when  our  weak  settlements  lay  at  their  mercy. 

While  in  the  Canadian  service,  I  had  killed  a  sub- 


104  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

ject  of  the  United  States,  and  nations  have  been  em- 
broiled in  war  by  trifles  less  than  that. 

It  was  Superintendent  Fourmet's  duty  to  expel 
me  from  the  service,  and  deport  me  from  the 
country. 

Oh,  well  for  me  if  he  had  done  !;is  duty.  With 
Rain  my  wife,  we  might  have  '  /ed  in  honor,  help- 
ing to  save  a  dying  people  before  it  was  too  late. 

I  am  an  aristocrat  for  the  same  reason  that  a 
wolf  is  a  wolf,  and  hold  equality  to  be  an  illusion 
of  the  uncouth.  And  as  a  wolf  will  mate  with  wolf. 
Rain  was  my  natural  partner. 

But  we  were  held  apart  by  an  unnatural  conven- 
tion, that  horrible  fetish  respectability,  god  of  the 
Anglo-Saxons,  enemy  of  Christ,  forever  forging 
chains  for  free  and  liberal  spirits,  parting  honest 
lovers,  selling  virgins  in  marriage  to  beasts,  and 
vending  dean  men  to  most  unholy  women.  The 
temple  is  profaned  by  all  who  buy  and  sell  their 
bodies  in  wedlock  or  without,  but  most  of  all  by 
the  respectable,  who  bind  us  with  chains  most  griev- 
ous to  be  borne,  and  where  Christ  gave  us  the  one 
commandment — Love,  dare  to  forbid  the  banns. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  SWING  OF  ev:;nts 


BEFORE  I  left  Fort  French  on  my  way  to  regi- 
mental headquarters  I  promised  old  Wormy 
to  lead  a  better  life.  The  first  duty  then  was  to 
provide  for  my  Brat  in  hospital;  so  I  raffled  my 
war-horse,  and  sold  oflf  by  public  auction  a  dozen 
damsels  to  whom  I  had  been  postally  engaged; 
then  lost  the  whole  of  the  money  at  cards  with  the 
hospital  orderly.    So  I  said  good-by  to  Brat. 

Parted  from  all  my  vices  I  felt  like  an  empty 
box,  all  chiaroscuro  and  good  intentions,  yet  in  the 
stage  sleigh  caught  by  a  two  days'  blizzard  it  was 
really  too  cold  to  reform.  That  autumn  storm  was  a 
hundred  and  eight  miles  long  from  its  tail  at  Fort 
French  to  its  nose  at  Fort  Calgary  with  a  hundred 
degrees  of  cold  and  the  nip  of  a  crocodile.  Then 
at  Fort  Calgary  I  had  to  wait  in  barracks,  for  the 
unfinished  Canadian  Pacific  Railroad  ran  trains. 


ip6  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUi»RD 

weather  permitting,  or  when  the  driver  was  sober. 
Anyway,  I  had  time  to  lose  my  sustenance  money 
over  a  game  of  poker,  and  when  Rich  Mixed  and 
I  got  (HI  board  the  train  we  had  nothing  to  reform 
with  except  a  tin  of  crackers.  We  were  beastly 
pinched  on  the  six  hundred  mile  crawl  east  to  Regi- 
na,  the  mounted  police  headquarters. 

I  had  rather  looked  forward  to  seeing  civilization 
after  some  eighteen  months  of  the  other  thing,  but 
the  train  was  jammed  with  men  coming  down  from 
the  construction  camps  in  the  Rockies  and  most  of 
them  had  forgotten  to  take  a  bath.  The  floors  of 
the  cars  were  swamped  with  tobacco  juice,  the 
stoves  were  red,  there  was  no  ventilation.  The  air 
made  my  head  swim,  and  Rich  Mixed  was  taken 
sick. 

I  had  been  pining  for  company,  but — well,  there 
were  some  Canadians — fine  chaps,  pla>ing  cards, 
the  stakes  in  hundreds  of  dollars.  I  could  only  af- 
ford to  look  on  for  half  a  minute. 

There  were  American  commercial  gents,  pale, 
high-pitched,  talking  millions  and  millions  of  dol- 
lars.   I  could  not  afford  to  listen. 

Then  there  were  navvies  busy  getting  drunk,  and 
even  their  talk  never  went  as  low  as  ten  cents.  They, 
too,  were  above  my  station.    I  even  heard  a  man 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  107 

say,  "Catch  on  to  all  that  for  fifty  cents  a  day!"    I 
could  not  teU  him  my  pay  was  fifty-five  cents. 

That  was  when  I  stood  up  to  take  off  my  buffalo 
coat,  and  all  the  people  stared  at  the  red  tunic 
Somehow  these  good  folk  did  not  belong  to  my 
tribe,  but  I  did  not  know  till  then  that  the  red  coat 
shuts  off  the  world  like  a  wall.  Only  I  felt  they 
ditpised  me,  so  I  blushed.  It  was  as  though  a  flock 
of  sheep  stared  with  contempt  at  a  collie,  and  that 
made  me  grin. 

The  better  half  of  me  is  Irish,  sharing  the  same 
heritage  with  every  British  Tommy,  every  British 
bluejacket,  every  British  irregular  on  the  far  flung 
frontiers.  Even  the  English  feel  it,  whose  hearts 
are  like  cold  fish,  the  glamour  of  the  service,  the 
magic,  the  witchcraft,  the  religion  of  this  justice- 
under-arms  guarding  a  fourth  part  of  all  mankind 
from  war,  keeping  the  peace  of  the  seal  Spain 
was,  England  is,  and  Canada  will  be,  a  power 
snatching  fire  from  Heaven  to  yield  the  peace  of 
el  Etemo  Padre.  Santissima  Maria— I  belonged  to 
that! 

Oh,  but  it  was  more,  a  great  deal  n  >re.  In  the 
frost  of  the  window  beside  me  there  was  a  patch  of 
clear  glass,  and  I  could  see  a  cloud  race  past  the 
moon,  above  the  driving  surf  of  the  snow-sea,  while 


io8  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

the  blizzard  battered  and  thundered,  hilf  lifting  our 
train  from  the  rails.  I  wanted  to  be  back  where  I 
had  been,  riding  storms.  I  belonged  there,  I  be- 
longed to  that. 

If  we  who  serve  with  the  colors  under  Old  Glory 
or  the  Union  Jack  were  serving  for  pay  the  public 
enemy  could  buy  us  for  more  pay.  Could  you  bar- 
gain with  us  in  terms  of  cash  for  the  austerities  of 
actual  service,  disease,  wdunds,  death? 

"Credo  in  unum  Deum,"  roared  the  storm.  "Om- 
nipotentem,"  roared  the  storm.  "Creatirem  Coeli, 
et  terrae,"  roared  the  storm.  I  and  the  storm  were 
servants  of  one  God.  I  knew  then  that  never  while 
I  lived  could  I  belong  to  a  civilization  which  meas- 
ures life  in  dollars. 


I  was  at  a  castle  in  Spain  tipping  the  groom  of 
the  chambers  with  one  raw  oyster  in  his  extended 
palm,  when  Rich  Mixed  woke  me  up  with  his  cold 
nose  in  my  hand.  The  dawn  was  breaking,  the 
train  had  pulled  up  at  Moose  jaw,  and  there  was  a 
new  passenger  approaching,  al!  furs,  frost  and  fuss. 
The  men  in  the  car  were  stretched  or  coiled  on  the 
seats,  like  corpses  in  the  wan  gray  light  of  morning. 
The  only  empty  place  was  the  one  which  belonged  to 
my  dog,  so  he  was  saying  in  dog  talk. 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  109 

"Ur-rl   Gur-r-rl"  which  means:    "Isn't  he  poi- 
sonous. Don't  let  him  take  my  seat.   Yur-r-rl" 

So  I  took  Rich  Mixed  on  my  lap  and  said,  "Sit 
on  your  tail,  my  septic  friend." 

Yet  this  person  must  needs  argue  about  seats 
farther  on,  so  the  brakeman  called  him  a  fool  and 
walked  off.  It  seemed  to  me,  though,  that  this  un- 
wholesome stranger  shied,  not  at  the  dog  but  at  me 
So  I  told  him  I  was  only  a  policeman,  and  the  dog 
was  most  particular  as  to  what  he  ate.  The  man 
sat  down. 

As  yet  I  had  no  suspicions  at  aU,  but  the  person 
must  needs  explain  a  lot  of  stuff  about  being  a  pho- 
tographer and  making  good  money  with  pictures 
of  mountain  sceneries.  That  set  me  wondering, 
for  If  he  came  from  the  Rockies,  why  should  he 
board  the  train  five  hundred  miles  out  on  the  plains? 
And  if  he  really  was  a  photographer,  he  should  have 
the  camera  tripod,  slide  box  and  that  well-known 
professional  manner. 

"Cur-r!"  said  Rich  Mixed. 
Where  had  my  decent  dog  met  this  liar  who  shied 
at  police?  My  septic  friend  was  a  town  scout,  so 
the  only  town  where  the  dog  could  have  known  him 
would  be  Winnipeg.  Then  I  jumped  the  rest  of  the 
Tiray  to  that  House  of  the  Red  Lamp,  the  place 


no  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


where  this  book  began,  where  Rawhide  Kate  had 
shown  me  a  photograph  of  her  husband — thi»  very 
man — a  circus  artiste  with  a  breast  of  revolting 
decorations,  and  a  brace  of  revolvers — Jonathan 
Withal,  King  of  Guns.  Afterward,  I  remembered, 
he  murdered  Rawhide  Kate.  The  police  descrip- 
tion mentioned  a  wen  on  his  neck  and  oddly  enough 
this  duck  sat  in  his  fur  coat  with  the  collar  up  while 
he  sweated.  Besides  he  k^pt  his  hands  in  the  side 
pockets,  and  by  the  bulge,  it  was  guns.  He  had 
me  covered. 

You  know  how  one  thing  leads  to  another.  We 
talked  about  Rich  Mixed.  Then  I  got  confidential, 
telling  him  all  about  my  dog's  half-sister.  Biscuits, 
and  he  told  me  exactly  how  much  money  he  made. 
So  I  was  envious,  sick  of  the  police,  proposing  to 
desert,  tliat  I  might  take  to  drink  and  photography 
which  in  his  case  were  such  a  success.  But  he  ex- 
plained through  his  nose  how  some  folks  being 
prejudiced  jest  nachurally  couldn't  see  the  differ- 
ence between  a  drinkin'  man  and  a  drunkard  where- 
as he  could  take  it  or  leave  it  alone:  that's  what, 
although  there's  some  as  would  figger  five  dollars 
a  day  for  drinks  as  coming  rather  steep,  yes,  sir, 
but  them's  cheap  men.  As  for  him  he  wanted  me 
to  know  that  he  was  bad,  and  wild,  all  hard  to  curry 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  x  1 1 

and  full  of  fleas  and  could  shoot  the  spots  out  of  the 
ten  of  clubs  at  a  mile. 

He  paused,  giving  me  time  to  admire. 

Then  he  mentioned  a  bottle  right  here  in  his  va- 
lise. 

By  that  time  I  had  caught  a  strong  Amurrican 
accent,  yes,  siree,  and  owned  his  talk  made  me 
thirsty,  although  one  drink  of  the  real  quintessence 
would  put  me  under  the  seat  dead  drunk,  because 
I'd  just  recovered  from  hydrophobia. 

Out  came  his  hands  from  his  pockets  which  made 
me  real  proud  to  have  his  confidence,  you  betcher 
life.  Then  the  patient  turned  round  to  open  his 
valise  while  I  grabbed  his  collar  and  wrenched  it 
(iown,  locking  his  elbows  behind  him  until  I  tied 
his  thumbs  together  with  a  string. 

He  wanted  to  give  a  display  of  fireworks,  but 
couldn't  reach  his  guns.  So  I  had  to  tell  him  not 
to  say  things  I  was  too  young  to  hear. 

"Jonathan  Withal,"  said  I,  when  we  were  settled 
down  again.  "I  arrest  you  in  the  Queen's  name. 
You  will  be  charged  with  the  murder  of  your  wife, 
and  I  warn  you  that  anything  you  say  will  be  used 
in  evidence." 

The  episode  was  sordid,  its  memory  has  become 
unpleasant,  and  it  would  not  be  mentioned  here 


iia     THE  C31EERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

but  for  the  iuue  which  altered  the  course  of  my  life. 
I  had  been  sent  as  a  bad  character  for  a  course  of 
recruit  drill  and  discipline  at  headquarters,  but  ar- 
rived at  Regina  with  a  prisoner  who  was  in  due 
course  committed  to  trial  for  capital  felony  at  Win- 
nipeg. I  was  sent  as  escort  to  give  evidence  of  ar- 
rest, and  pending  the  trial  and  hanging  was  posted 
to  our  detachment  at  Fort  Osborne  just  outside  that 
city.  Afterward  I  remained  on  detachment  during 
the  early  winter. 


During  those  few  weeks  at  Winnipeg  I  had  a 
couple  of  letters  from  my  Brat  who  had  taken  to 
crutches  and  felt  able-bodied.  He  told  me  that 
there  was  some  rumor  of  Sarde  getting  married. 
The  inspector  had  bought  an  engagement  ring,  also 
a  girl's  fur  cap  and  coat  which  had  gone  by  the 
stage  sleigh  to  Helena  where  Widow  Burrows  lived. 
He  had  applied  for  transfer  to  depot  at  Regina  as 
being  nearer  to  civilization.  My  friend  Buckie  was 
in  from  Slide-out  Detachment  and  was  going  on 
prisoners'  escort  to  Regina. 

In  response  I  sent  Brat  my  first  poem,  in  celebra- 
tion of  Sarde's  alleged  engagement  to  Widow  Bur- 
row*. 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  1 13 

When  the  artful  Meringue 
Met  the  gay  Macaroon, 
And  they  sighed,  and  then  sang 
In  the  light  of  the  moon— 
'Twas  there!  'TwasthusI  'Twas  then 
1  met  my  first,  my  only  love. 
'Twas  warm ! 

One  day  I  was  on  sentry  at  the  gate  of  Fort  Os- 
borne when  a  tramp  came  along  the  street,  a  bare- 
headed, red-haired  hobo  shivering  in  remnants  of 
a  jersey  and  broken  down  sea  boots. 

"I'd  been  in  Roosia  once,"  he  told  me  afterward, 
"and  you  made  me  think  of  a  Roosian  grand  dook 
I'd  seen  reviewing  troops— wot  chanct  'ad  I  eot 
eh?"  *    ' 

I  remember  being  very  comfy  in  fur  cap,  short 
buffalo  coat,  long  stockings,  moccasins,  and  my  belt 
of  burnished  brass  cartridges  in  the  sunlight  shone 
as  a  streak  of  blazing  light.  I  asked  the  freezing 
sailor  if  he  wanted  to  take  on  in  the  force.  For 
answer  he  gulped  at  me.  so  I  pointed  out  the  way  to 
the  recruiting  office.  "Second  door  on  the  left. 
Good  luck  to  you." 

A  few  minutes  after  the  tramp  had  gone  to  his 
fate  a  municipal  policeman  arrived,  one  of  the  fa- 
mous Winnipeg  giants.  He  inquired  after  a  red- 
haired  hobo,  who  was  badly  wanted  for  kicking  a 


t  : 


■ftlB; 


114     THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

booking  derk  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  through  the 
office  door  which  happened  to  be  shut.  The  clerk 
was  being  removed  to  hospital. 

Yes,  I  remembered  seeing  a  person  with  red  hair 
—of  course,  the  very  man.  Ten  minutes  ago  he 
had  passed  going  toward  Red  River  in  a  parachute. 

The  Winnipeg  police  giants  are  ponderous  of  un- 
derstanding and  sensitive  to  chaff. 

The  guard-house  was  not  in  use,  and  the  men  on 
guard  lived  in  the  barrack  room.  So  there  I  was 
when,  after  my  relief,  I  lay  on  my  trestle  half 
dressed,  doing  bed  fatigue,  my  dog  asleep  beside 
me.  Yes,  I  was  eating  dates  when  Red  Saunders, 
the  sailor  hobo,  came  out  from  the  medical  ordeal. 

"Hullol"  I  called.  "What  luck?" 

'They  snapped  me  up!"  cried  Red,  and  at  that 
the  corporal  of  the  guard,  who  was  playing  c"ds  at 
the  table,  looked  up  laughing. 

'"Ere!"  Red  seized  the  corporal  by  the  collar, 
"come  and  'ave  yer  'ead  punched !" 

"Two,  four,  six,"  said  the  corporal  over  his  cards, 
"and  a  pair,  eight" 

"Carrots!"  I  shouted.  Red  forgot  his  corporal 
and  hastened  across  to  destroy  me.  "Dates,  I 
mean,"  said  I  gently,  holding  out  the  bag.     "Sit 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  '  115 
here  on  my  bed;  Rich  Mixed  i,  only  .narling  for 
effect  Won't  bite.  Too  full  to  hold  another  mouth- 
fill.  Do  you  knaw.  Red.  that  the  genUeman  over 
there  is  your  luperior  officer?" 
"Swine  I" 

"How  true.    Yet  for  touching  even  a  chaffy  cor- 
poral the  punishment  is  death." 
"'E  insulted  me  1" 

"Death.  Court-martialed  and  shot  at  sunrise, 
then  buried  in  the  dogs'  churchyard  with  a  dreadful 
epitaph.  After  that  you'd  be  punished  for  kicking 
that  clerk  into  hospital." 

"  'E  can't  'and  me  over  to  the  police,"  Red  low- 
ered at  the  corporal,  "  'cause  we're  shipmates  now 
I  belong." 

"That's  so.  We've  all  got  to  behave  as  shipmates, 
and  we  mustn't  scrag  the  bosn." 

"I  can  take  an  'int."  quoth  Red,  who  was  gulp- 
ing down  the  dates,  stones  and  all.  "I  sai— wot 
d'ye  think  the  josher  said  in  there?  Axed  me  my 
catechism,  s'elp  me,  and  I  'ad  to  write  the  answers. 

"  •  'Ad  I  served  before?  Yes.  before  the  mast. 

"  'Married  ?    No,  thank  Gawd. 

"•Could  I  read  and  write?'  So  I  wrote  down. 
'Hain't  I  a-doing  of  it? 


ii6  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


'"Character  from  the  clergyman  of  my  parish?* 
Parish,  mind  you.  Mine's  the  sea,  so  I  writes  down, 
'Reverend  Davy  Jones  don't  give  no  discharges. 

"  'Care  and  management  of  'orses?'  Well,  I  said, 
I'd  'ove  some  overboard  acrost  the  Western. 

"Makes  me  strip  bare,  buiT  'n  buttocks. 

"And  take  them  oaths.  Oaths  from  me!  I  axed 
'im  if  I  looked  like  a  traitor,  or  a  Dago." 

"A  Dago,  like  me?"         i 

Red  gave  me  his  grubby  sti'-ky  hand  in  sudden 
sympathy,  bidding  me  cheer  up.  "  'Cause  even  a 
Dago  ain't  so  bad  as  niggars." 

I  mopped  my  eyes  with  a  handkerchief  and  begged 
him  not  to  comfort  me  too  much  lest  I  shed  un- 
manly tears.  "Tell  me,"  I  went  on,  "about  the 
man  you  kicked." 

"Ruptured,  I  'ope.  You  see  I  went  into  the  C.  P. 
R.  office  and  ast  for  a  job,  and  'e  said  no  English 
need  apply.  I'd  best  go,  says  'e,  to  the  Society  for 
the  Relief  of  Destitute  Englishmen.  So  I  ast  'im  wot 
'e  was  and  'e  says,  'Canadian,  get-to-'ell-out-of-'ere.' 
Then  I  'ummed  Gawd  Save  the  Queen  at  'im  for 
maybe  fifteen  minutes  to  lure  'im  out  from  behind 
that  'ere  bulkhead. 

"The  girl  with  the  parcels  was  buying  a  ticket 


THE  SWING  OP  r VF^NTS  i ,  7 

iT^u'T"  '''"  '''°"'"  °''  "^  ^'^  "--«  and 
god.fil,edteeth.  Sort  of,  v..  „,.„,,,,,, he  twelve 
o  clock  tram  leaves  at  noon  to-n,orrow.  and  the  fare 
dont  h,„clude  no  Pultaan  bunk  nor  n,eals  nor  an 
extra  h  engine,  and  in  the  event  of  Indians  you 
wont  be  scalped,  madame,  'cause  you're  just  too 
beautiful.'  And  she  is,  too. 

,.  "^^^"^hile  I  just  sang  the  national  anthem  at 
>n,,  knowing  it  was  bound  to  work  if  I  kep'  on  pa- 
rent, 'e  gettin'  as  red  as  a  lobster  with  'is  un'oly 
passions,  until  at  last  she  says,  'Good-by,'  an'  drops 
er  parcels  Stands  like  an  'elpless  angel,  saying 
ow  silly  she  is. 

"Yuss.  There's  me  at  'er  little  feet  a-pickin'  up 
the  pawcels  'and  over  'and,  when  h'out  comes  Mr 
Clerk  from  'is  sheltered  'utch  to  say  I'm  a  thief- 
so  I  lets  out  a  mule  kick  and  'e  performs  the  high 
trajectory-yuss,  and  busts  his  bloomin'  hypotenuse 
nght  fair  across  the  seat.  And  I  never  said  nothin' 
to  nobody.  Nar!  Then  just  as  I'm  opening  the 
door  for  'er  ladyship  to  pawss  out  'e  comes  along 
for  another,  and  gets  some  more  of  the  same  in  'is 
bleedm'  gizzard.  I  gives  it  to  'im  abundant,  enough 
to  lawst,  but  the  lidy  says,  "Ow  could  yer!'  and 
wants  to  offer  me  money.    Says  I  to  meself,  'I  'ear 


ii8  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


thee  speak  of  a  better  land,'  so  not  wanting  to  in- 
terfere with  them  'ippopotamus  police  I  comes  'ere 
for  sanctimony. 

"Oh,  yuss.  She  was  h'angels  h'ever  bright  and 
fair  by  the  nime  o'  Vi'let  Burrows.  That's  'er  tally. 
Tells  the  clerk  she  'ails  from  'Elena,  Montana." 

"Whatl" 

"Vi'let  Burrows,  of  'Elena,  Montana.  'Ere,  what's 
up?" 

But  Violet  Burrows,  of  Helena,  Montana,  was 
the  lady  I  had  swapped  for  a  sucking  pig  to  the  Cook 
who  traded  her  for  a  dog  to  the  sergeant-major 
who  sold  her  for  a  pair  of  boots  to  the  good  In- 
spector Sarde.  Then  I  had  written  advising  her 
to  bring  an  action  against  poor  Sarde  for  breach 
of  promise  of  marriage.  According  to  Brat's  last 
letter.  Inspector  Sarde  was  at  Fort  Qu'Appelle 
twenty  miles  north  of  Troy  station,  on  the  Canadian 
Pacific  And  here  was  Violet  Burrows  on  her  way 
to  Troy.  It  would  never  do.  She  was  much  too 
good  for  Sarde.    She  belonged  to  me. 

I  rushed  at  the  corporal  of  the  guard,  and  told 
him  to  parade  me  to  the  officer  commanding. 

"Oh,  go  and  die,"  said  he,  still  at  his  cards,  "my 
deal." 

But  I  had  him  firmly  by  the  ear.    "Come  quick," 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS      ?     119 

said  I,  "come  on.  I've  got  to.get.  transferred— to- 
morrow's train-*  little  widow-a  grandmother  of 
nrine,  and  bound  for  Troy.  Oh,  by^my  sainted 
aunt's  dear  speckled  socks,  come  on!" 


m 


A  mile  outside  of  Winnipeg  station,  just  .at  the 
end  of  the  sidings,  the  west-bound  train  slowed 
down,  then  stopped  to  admit  three  passengers  who 
came  in  a  government  sleigh.  These  boarded  the 
train  and  marched  through  the  cars  in  procession: 
an  important  dog  snuffling  at  the  passengers  on  an 
official  tour  of  inspection,  a  red-haired  sailor  tramp, 
so  badly  wanted  by  the  local  police  that  he  had  to 
be  shipped  outside  their  jurisdiction,  and  a  black- 
avised  soldier  who,  to  judge  by  contemporary  por- 
traits, looked  rather  like  the  devil. 

As   we   three   entered   the   day-car   the   tramp 
shouted,  "There  she  isl" 

r  I  told  him  it  was  rude  to  point,  bade  him  stow] 
my  luggage  and  sit  down,  and  then  approached  the 
lady,  throwing  a  salute. 

"Widow  Burrows?"  I  asked. 

"Miss  Burrows,"  was  the  prim  answer. 

She  was  a  pretty,  tip-tilted  blonde,  of  the  best 


ii- 


m; 


I20     THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


housemaid  type,  a  dead  common  young  animal,  yet 
quite  attractive  in  a  land  where  women  were  still 
rare.  In  England  I  used  to  sample  them  by  doz- 
ens, taking  an  educational  course  in  any  favors  that 
they  had  to  offer.  This  one  had  a  pert  fur  cap,  a 
coat  of  the  same  which  fitted  crushingly  over  a  most 
pretentious  bustle.  The  skirt  seemed  hung  the 
wrong  way  round.  From  the  size,  shape  and  con- 
dition of  the  hands,  gloves  would  have  been  ad- 
visable.   She  giggled  under  inspection. 

From  Sarde's  photographs,  of  course,  she  knew 
the  uniform  of  the  mounted  police  and  airily  sup- 
posed me  to  be  his  messenger;  so  I  told  her  I  was 
to  be  escort  as  far  as  Troy,  then  shed  my  hot  furs 
and  asked  if  I  might  sit  down. 

For  a  mere  messenger  she  thought  that  rather  fa- 
miliar, so  I  told  htr  not  to  bristle  because  it  was 
not  becoming.  "Now,  don't  drop  your  parcels,  my 
dear."    I  pointed  out  Red  Saunders  in  tiie  comer. 

"The  kicker  you  hired  yesterday  is  tamed  and 
eats  out  of  my  hand.  But  have  you  engaged  assas- 
sins for  to-day?"  I  searched  under  the  seats,  and 
told  her  that  I  was  timid  about  being  kicked. 

"Oh,  say!"  She  was  all  of  a  flutter.  That  spe- 
cies usually  got  excited  when  they  expected  kisses. 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  121 

It  was  well  to  keep  them  expecting,  for  when  they 
had  nothing  to  hope  for  interest  was  apt  to  flag. 

"Now  don't  be  formal,  young  woman.  A  smile, 
please.  There,  how  charming  the  sudden  sunshine! 
And  how  is  your  late  husband?  The  one  in  Hel— 
in  Helena.'" 

"Sirl" 

"How  stupid  of  me.  Not  introduced,  eh?  Miss 
Burrows,  allow  me  to  present  Mr.  la  Mancha  who 
wrote  to  you  once  or  twice,  you  may  remember, 
eh?" 

"Ohl" 

"Please  do  that  'Oh!'  again.  Lips  perfectly  en- 
chanting, Mrs.  Burrows.  I  could  arrange  my  kisses 
in  that  vase  like  roses." 

Miss  Burrows  played  at  indignant  heroine  mo- 
lested by  a  villain. 

"^~^—l'm  n-not  Mrs.  Burrows.  I  told  you  be- 
fore." 

"So?  You've  exorcised  the  ghost  of  the  late  hus- 
band? May  his  divorced  spirit  fry,  for  all  I  care. 
Miss  Burrows.  Or  perhaps  you're  only  a  widow 
at  home  in  Helena." 

"Now  you  go  away,  Mr.  la  Mancha,  or  I'll  get 
right  mad." 


IN 


i 

I  i  i 


IM    THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Don't  call  me  mister.    Call  me  Blackguard" 

"I  got  no  use  for  you  anyways." 

"You  advertised  for  me." 

"I  didn't!    I  never  1    You  advertised!" 

"Ah!  And  you  sent  me  the  photograph  of  an 
ugly  aunt— a  scarecrow— instead  of  your  lovely  self. 
iWhy— why?" 

"Say,"  she  bridled,  "if  Mr.  Sarde  sent  you  to 
— waii — ^all  I  kin  say  is — " 

"Don't  you  mean  wasf" 

"I'll  tell  Mr.  Sarde— there!" 

"Do  you  know  that  his  father  was  hanged  when 
his  mother  stole  the  ducks?" 

My  arm  stole  round  her  waist. 

"Oh,  we'll  be  noticed!  I'll  scream!  I  swear 
I'll  scream!" 

"We'll  both  scream.  Then  we're  sure  to  be 
noticed." 

"You're  just  too  horrid.    It's  not  respectable." 

"I  hang  in  thy  sunshine  all  spread  out,  like  a 
kipper.  Make  me  what  you  will."  My  arm  dosed 
round  her  waist,  and  was  hardly  long  enough. 

"Now  you  want  to  let  me  go  right  now,  or — " 

"My  dear,  you've  never  enjoyed  yourself  so  much 
in  all  your  life." 

"I  shall  call  for  help!" 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  123 

"Da    If  I'd  only  a  tuning  fork,  I'd  give  you  the 
note— the  high  Q." 

"When  the  brakeman  comes,  or  the  conductor,  I 
will,  I  swear  I  will  I" 

"Won't  the  newsboy  do?    Don't  eat  me.  try  a 
banana." 

I  bought  one  from  the  newsboy  for  fifteen  cents, 
half  peeled  it  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 
"I  won't  touch  it,"  she  said,  and  bit.  "I~" 
"Bite,  ruby  lips,  clutch  hard,  oh,  pearls,  and  give 
your  tongue  a  rest,  'cause  you  can't  talk  with  your 
mouth  full,  greedy.  To  think  that  all  your  ances- 
tors  lived  on  nuts  1  Exit  banana  up  center.  And 
now  with  its  tender  inside  skin  I  wipe  the  powder 
gently  off  thy  nose." 

"We'll  be  seen  I"  she  pleaded. 

"And  envied.  Don't  I  flirt  nicely  ?  Banana  skin 
should  be  good  to  swab  off  rouge,  but  I  think  this 
must  be  a  preparation  of  pig  fat  and  brick  dust, 
for  it  won't  come  off.  I  use  cherry  tooth  paste,  but 
then.  I'm  a  brunette.  And  now,  my  dear,  if  you'll 
turn  your  nose  half  left.  I  don't  mind  kissing  you." 

"I  dare  you  1" 

"This  way.  Um.  If  I  weren't  so  painfully  shy, 
yes,  you  may  tickle  me." 

"I  didn't" 


124  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Then  you  should.  Now,  when  you're  finished 
huflfing  like  the  female  puff  bird,  you'll  tickle  me.  or 
I'll  dance  you  the  length  of  the  car." 

"Will  that  do?" 

"Nicely,  thanks.    Now  left  ear." 

"There's  the  brakeman,  he'll  see  us  I" 

The  brakeman  passed,  followed  by  the  conductor 
who  examined  tickets,  but  Miss  Violet  with  her 
nose  in  the  air  and  my  arm  'around  her  waist,  pre- 
tended total  strangers. 

I  began  to  lose  interest.  The  girl  was  mine  for 
the  asking.  Any  man  in  the  force  could  have  won 
her  easy  favors.  She  only  interested  me  as  Sarde's 
property.  "And  so,"  said  I,  "you're  meeting  him 
at  Qu'Appelle." 

"Mind  you  own  business." 

"It  is  my  business.  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  sue 
him  for  breach  of  promise?" 

"There  isn't  any  breach.  We're  engaged,  so 
there." 

"So  you've  got  to  marry  him,  eh?"  and  I  led 
her  on  to  talk  about  herself,  the  only  topic  she 
had  for  conversation. 

Miss  Burrows,  was,  I  believe,  not  fortunate  in  the 
selection  of  her  parents,  and  had  been  adopted  at 
the  age  of  fourteen  by  an  uncle,  Eliphalet  P.  Bur- 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  wj 

rows  known  as  Loco,  because  ' .  happened  to  be 
cracked.  He  was  caretaker  at  a  bankrupt  mine 
near  Helena,  absorbed  in  fooi  invention  which 
used  up  all  his  wages,  and  glad  to  have  Miss  Violet 
because  she  was  cheap.  A  servant  would  expect 
to  be  paid. 

To  those  who  have  eyes,  ears  and  a  heart,  the 
wilderness  gives  a  better  education  than  the  schools 
but  the  girl  turned  her  back  on  that,  sprawling  in 
the  parlor  with  windows  draped  to  shut  out  all 
thmgs  beautiful.  The  place  was  full  of  shams  and 
plush  vulgarities,  and  there  she  spent  her  leisure 
reading  novels. 

Now  fiction  honestly  made  by  craftsmen  may  be 
true  to  human  life,  and  at  it.  best  a  mirror  re- 
flecting the  world.     But  an  average  novel  depicts 
a  hero  perfectly  sweet,  canned  virtue,  guaranteed 
bullet  proof;  and  a  heroine  who  is  potted  chastity 
and  warranted  tender:  two  figures  void  of  human 
character,  whose  respectable  passions  are  thwart- 
ed for  about  three  hundred  pages,  saleable  at  one 
dollar  and  thirty-five  cents.    Then  they  mar^r,  and 
bve  happily  ever  after.     Truth  may  be  stranger 
than  that— but  I  have  doubts. 

Miss  Violet's  novels  depicted  viUians  of  spotless 
blackness,  the  good  flawlessly  innocent  but  painfully 


136  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


underfed.  Vice  lived  in  guilty  splendor,  wicked 
earls  lunched  in  their  coronets,  lurid  adventuresses 
went  hurtling  to  the  bad,  and  nobody  had  the  slight- 
est sense  of  humor.    She  f*d  on  offal. 

Old  Burrows  had  a  stepson,  young  Joe  Chambers, 
a  cow-hand  earning  forty  dollars  a  month,  a  decent 
fellow,  tongue-tied  and  a  lout,  but  with  the  makings 
of  a  first-rate  husband.  ,He  spent  his  money  on 
presents,  his  spare  time  in  devotion,  while  Miss  Vio- 
let, who  had  nobody  else  to  fM  with,  made  love  to 
him  out  of  books,  had  him  for  dummy  to  keep  her- 
self in  practise,  and  wrecked  his  life  without  the 
least  compunction. 

She  waited  for  the  lover  of  her  dreams,  the  hero 
of  fiction,  and  in  this  condition  replied  to  my  mock 
advertisement  in  the  Matrimonial  Ashbin.  Some 
shreds  or  casual  patches  of  modesty  impelled  her 
to  send  the  portrait  of  a  repulsive  aunt,  and  to  fit 
herself  out  in  bogus  widowhood. 

Decent  women  avoid  that  sort  of  correspondence, 
and  our  boys  of  C  Troop  felt  that  the  girls  who  made 
love  by  post  were  fair  game  for  any  sort  of  lark. 
For  the  sheer  repulsiveness  of  the  photograph  she 
sent,  this  correspondence  was  a  standing  joke  in 
the  troop  until  Inspector  Sarde  was  fool  enough  to 
take  her  seriously     She  sent  him  a  photograph  of 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  137 

herself  and  dropped  the  pose  of  widow.    I  sent  her 
ample  warning. 

Had  she  shown  my  letter  to  her  lover,  Joe  would 
have  ridden  across  and  shot  me.    Had  she  shown 
«t  to  Uncle  Loco,  he  would  have  prated  and  been 
tiresome.    Even  her  conscience  told  her  she  had  laid 
herself  open  to  insult  and  as  a  matter  of  common 
sense,  had  better  take  no  risk  of  something  worse 
But  her  vanity  had  been  wounded  and  in  a  silly  rage 
she  must  needs  get  even.    She  would  take  my  ad- 
vice and  lead  Sarde  on  into  a  promise  of  marriage, 
then  If  he  broke  his  pledge  threaten  an  action  at 
law. 

So  came  Sarde's  photograph  in  uniform,  and  with 
qu.te  regular  features  and  a  viking  mustache  he 
seemed  her  ideal  lover,  her  hero  of  fiction.  He 
wrote  too  as  lonely  men  are  apt  to  do.  After  all 
he  held  Her  Majesty's  Commission  in  a  distin- 
guished corps,  had  official  rank  as  a  gentleman,  was 
ex-officio  justice  of  the  peace,  could  give  her  a 
social  position,  offered  marriage,  and  was  now  in 
earnest.    The  poor  fool  thought  herself  in  love. 

Sarde  was  not  very  clever.  An  Ontario  farm 
a  mihtary  college,  and  some  forlorn  outposts  on 
the  frontier  had  not  completed  him  iif  worldly  wis- 
dom.    With  a  lieutenant's  pay,  to  iharry  on  the 


138  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

strength  of  a  pretty  photograph  gave  him  distinction 
in  a  world  of  fools.  By  running  into  debt,  he 
managed  to  send  an  engagement  ring,  and  after- 
ward that  sealskin  cap  and  coat,  cut  as  the  fashion 
was,  to  fit  over  a  bustle.  All  that  I  knew,  from  my 
chum  Buckie  who  sent  me  a  letter  of  gossip  from 
Fort  French.  Later,  Sarde  sent  the  girl  a  hundred 
dollars,  a  month's  pay,  and  got  himself  transferred 
to  Fort  Qu'Appelle  within  reach  of  civilization. 

For  her  part  Miss  Violet  developed  lumbago  in 
the  left  leg,  so  that  Loco  had  to  engage  a  Chinese 
servant.  Released  from  housework,  she  decided 
that  her  mission  in  life  was  to  help  Loco  with  his 
invention,  for  which  she  must  prepare  by  spending 
a  year  at  college.  Thus  Loco  was  induced  to 
borrow  sixty  dollars  for  her  fare  down  Elast — 
"spoiling  the  Egyptians"  she  called  that,  and  Joe 
raised  forty  dollars.    "All's  fair  in  love,"  said  she. 

Heart-broken,  she  left  old  Loco  to  his  fate,  board- 
ing the  train  at  Helena  in  floods  of  tears.  "I  cried 
my  eyes  out."  By  the  time  she  reached  Fargo,  she 
cheered  up.  "Can't  be  helped,"  said  she,  and  took 
the  train  for  Winnipeg.  There,  feeling  much  bet- 
ter, she  bought  a  ticket  for  Troy.  A  stage  sleigh 
thence  would  take  her  to  Fort  Qu'Appelle,  and  she 
wired  Sarde  the  date  of  her  arrival.    By  the  time  I 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  ,39 

met  her  outside  Winnipeg  on  board  the  west-bound 
tram,  she  had  recovered  from  her  late  bereavement, 
it  sail  ma  lifetime."  said  she. 
"It's  love  at  long  range."  said  I.     "The  adoring 
swme  sends  you  a  first-class  ticket  for  Cupid's  ex 
press,  saying.  'Co.^ie  to  my  arms,  regardless  of  ex- 
pense.     But.  my  dear,  why  Sarde?" 
"And  why  not.'" 
"There's  me." 

"You?     You're  only  an  enlisted  man.  but  my 
*-ynI  IS  an  officer." 
"Comfort  me,"  I  squeezed  her,  "or  I'll  scream  " 
My  attention  wandered  to  Rich  Mixed,  to  Saun- 
ders who  grinned  and  winked,  to  the  few  passen- 
gers and  the  passing  landscape.    But  Miss  Burrows 
to  brmg  me  back  to  the  main  thing,  herself,  produc- 
ed a  grubby  hand  while  she  talked  palmistry,  bid- 
ding me  read  her  fortune. 

I  told  her  between  yawns  that  the  paws  of  little 
cats  are  much  alike,  useful  for  mousing 
"But  I'm  a  lady." 

"Ladies  and  cats  are  pretty  much  the  same.  Both 
wash  themselves  all  over  every  day." 

It  was  not  in  that  sense  Miss  Burrows  had  claim- 
ed to  be  a  ladv.  and  with  an  angry  flush  she  set 


m 


to  work  to  put  me  in  my 


place. 


ISO  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


"Oh,  say,"  she  asked  incisively,  "ain't  English 
common  soldiers  with' red  coats  called  Tommies?" 

"Toms,"  I  corrected,  "not  Tommies.  Toms.  A 
she  puss,  whottises  cheap  scent  instead  of  licking 
her  fur,  is  apt  to  get  scratched  by  Toms." 

"How  dare  you  say  I'm  no  lady?" 

"You're  not,  my  dear.  You're  nice- and  common, 
frightfully  attractive,  pretty  enough  to  turn  theohead 
of  any  Tom.  Why,  pussie,  dear,  if  you  lived  in 
England,  any  of  our  chaps  would  walk  out  with 
you  in  the  park.  They'd  charge  half-a-crown — 
but,  by  jove,  I'd  do  it  for  a  bob." 

"Holy  snakes!  Me  to  pay  you  for — wall,  I 
g^ess  that's  all  you  red-coats  are  fit  for  anyway. 
We  thrashed  the  stuffing  out  of  you !" 

"We're  better  without  the  stuffing.  Oh,  much 
better.    I  never  pad.    Do  you?" 

"We  chased  you  out  of  Amurrica." 

"We  liked  it.  We  like  being  noticed.  What 
breaks  our  hearts  is  being  ignored  by  a  proud 
pieople." 

"How  about  Bunker  Hill?" 

"Ah,  yes.  How  true.  But  if  he'd  been  a  good 
Amurrican  you'd  call  him  Bunker  G.  Hill,  or  Bun- 
ker Zee  Hill,  eh?" 

"It  was  a  battle,  and  you  ran  like  rabbits." 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  131 

"Eh?  Did  we  smeU  some  beer?  At  the  slight- 
est wh.ff  of  beer  we  outieap  the  longest  rabbit 
Makes  me  thirsty  to  thiric  of.  Wish  I'd  been  there 
Pussie.  where  is  Bunker  V.  Hill?  There  may  be 
some  beer  left" 
"Boston,  of  course." 

"Boston.    We've  got  a  little  town  named  after 
It.    And  Where's  Boston?" 

"You  ain't  so  ignorant  aj  that.    Wall,  I  reckon 
It  s  the  capital  of  New  England." 

"Oh,  we've  got  a  place  named  after  New  Eng- 
land, too.    Let's  see-oh,  yes,  isn't  it  run,  like  ours 
by  the  Irish?" 
"You  make  me  sick." 
"How  charmingly  frank  you  are." 
"And  you,"  she  sniveled,  "just"_«,f^_"treat- 
mg  me"-^,y_"as  if  I  wasn't  a  lady." 
"That,"  said  I  gravely,  "I  shall  never  be." 
"So  I'm  no  account,"  said  Miss  Burrows  with 
asperity.    "I  think  you've  got  just  the  homeliest 
face,  and  the  most  or'nary  manners  I  ever  seen 
You're  no  gentleman." 

"Alas,  nol    I  was  found  in  an  ashbin  with  dead 
cats.     My  manners  were  a  disgrace  to  my  native 
slum.    My  face  is  my  misfortune.    Pity  me." 
"You're  a  brute  I"  she  sobbed. 


I 


132  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Cry,  but  take  care,  my  dear,  not  to  sniff.  There, 
you  spoil  it  all  by  sniffing." 

"Beast  I" 

"Beauty !  And  so  we're  Beauty  and  the  Beast.  She 
loved  him." 

At  that  she  cheered  up,  and  scratched. 

"The  beast,"  said  she,  "was  a  prince  in  dis- 
guise, but  you're  a — "     , 

"No,  my  dear.  He  wasn't  a  mere  prince.  He 
traveled  in  white  goods,  a  real  gent,  a  swell." 

"You're  laughing  at  me." 

"All  the  time,"  said  L 

"Oh!" 

"Because  you're  angry,  my  dear,  for  once  in 
your  life  you're  behaving  simply  and  naturally — 
rirst  lesson  in  being  a  lady.    You'll  get  on." 

"Oh,  that's  what  you  think." 

"American  girls  are  the  cleverest  in  the  world 
at  the  great  business." 

"Wall  now,  what's  that?    I'd  love  to  hear." 

"Getting  on.  The  principal  word  in  the  great 
American  language  is  the  verb  to  get.  I  get,  you 
get  out,  he  gets  there.  We  are  getting  on,  you 
are  getting  way  up,  they  are  busted.  Do  you  use 
hair  oil?" 

"No,  of  course  not." 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  133 

"Then  you  may  lay  your  golden  head  upon  my- 
hold  on.  I'll  spread  my  handkerchief-so.  Now 
cuddle  up  for  a  sleep." 

She  had  supper  with  me  at  the  dining  station,  and 
afterward  while  I  smoked,   ate  candy  until   she 
could  hold  no  more,  and  played  with  Rich  Mixed  ' 
until  both  were  tired. 

"Sleep  is  good,"  I  told  her,  "so  two  sleeps  are 
better  than  one.  I  told  the  brakeman  to  wake  us  up 
at  Troy.     Sweet  dreams." 

Sometime  in  the  dead  middle  of  the  night,  Inspec- 
tor Sarde  boarded  the  train  at  Troy,  and  came 
swaggering  through  the  cars  in  search  of  a  girl 
w,th  an  aureole  of  bright  hair,  a  dainty  tip-tilted 
nose  and  pouting  lips,  wearing  the  furs  he  had  sent 
her,  awaiting  his  first  kiss,  demure,  shy,  innocent. 
He  found  his  promised  wife  clasped  in  my  arms 
her  head  upon  my  shoulder  and  both  of  us  fast 
asleep.    He  never  really  loved  me,  anyway. 

Being  a  Canadian  he  had  the  national  qualities  of 
strength  and  self-control,  and  yet  was  capable  of  a 
bhnd  white  fury  in  which  his  eyes  would  blaze 
from  a  livid  deathly  face.  Because  he  did  not  lift 
his  voice  or  use  unnecessary  words  I  found  him 
quite  impressive.  On  this  occasion  a  stroke  from 
his  whip  aroused  me  so  that  I  started  broad  awake 


134  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


staring  up  at  an  officer  of  the  corps.  I  threw  off 
the  girl,  stood  to  attention  with  wooden  gravity  and 
aaluted. 

As  to  Miss  Burrows,  with  one  blink  she  sprang 
into  his  arms  and  said,  "Oh,  Cyril  1"  which  made 
him  rather  comic  in  his  high  authority.  He  licked 
his  dry  lips  before  he  could  even  speak. 

"Constable,"  said  he,  very  cold  and  rigid,  like 
some  cold  monumental  lamp-post  entwined  by  a 
siren  or  a  mermaid,  "what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Transferred,  sir,  Winnipeg  to  Regina." 

"Get  off  the  train,"  his  words  were  stinging,  his 
tone  had  malice.  "I'll  wire  the  commissioner  that 
I  detained  you  on  my  detachment,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing you  report  at  my  office  for  duty." 

"I  understand,  sir,"  for  he  had  me  at  his  mercy. 
I  saluted  and  turned  to  obey. 

Then  Sarde  faced  the  woman  who  had  betrayed 
him. 

"Come,"  he  said  icily,  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

"Oh,  Cyril  1" 

"Come,"  he  repeated,  over  his  shoulder,  "un- 
less you  prefer  to  go  on  with  the  train;  you  can  go 
to  hell  for  all  I  care." 

"Oh,  Cyril,  let  me  explain!" 


"Are 


you  commg  or 


not?" 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  135 

So  he  left  the  train,  with  the  woman  trailing 
after  him,  makings*  scene.    I  followed. 


IV 

Far  back  in  the  long  ago  time  an  Indian  woman 
lay  m  her  teepee  ^ying  and  wHh  her  last  breath 
called  her  lover's  name.  And  many  miles  away  her 
lover  heard.  He  pufled  up  his  dog-train  and  stood 
beside  the  cariole,  and  listening  to  the  silence,  cried 
"Who  calls?" 

The  French  Canadian  voyagers  would  tell  that 
story  of  the  fodian  who  heard  a  spirit  voice,  and 
answering  cried,  "Qu'Appelle  ?"  From  that  cty  was 
the  valley  named,  and  the  old  Hudson's  Bay  Fort  is 
still  called  Qu'Appelle. 

On  the  hillside  overlooking  the  fort  stood  our 
log  shanties  of  the  police  detachment,  but  Inspector 
Sarde,  the  officer  commanding,  and  his  new  wife  had 
quarters  at  the  hotel. 

I  was  posted  to  Sarde's  detachment  and  as  all 
soldiers  know,  when  an  officer  commanding  is  down 
upon  any  trooper  he  can  easily  drive  the  man  to 
mutiny,  desertion  or  suicide  within  the  first  few 
weeks.  Sarde  did  his  very  best  to  that  intent,  hazed 
me,  nagged  at  me,  goaded  me,  set  traps  to  catch  me 


136  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


in  some  lapse  of  temper,  told  me  off  to  impossible 
duties  and  used  false  charges  to  give  me  ruthless 
punishment.  My  pay  was  collected  in  fines,  the 
other  fellows  had  their  leave  stopped  on  my  account 
that  they  might  be  turned  against  me,  and  once  I 
passed  a  night  in  the  cells  with  a  hundred  degrees 
of  frost.  Of  course  I  deserved  all  I  got,  and  made 
no  moan  because  I  had  so  richly  earned  Sarde's 
hatred.  He  put  me  on  my  mettle,  forced  me  to  ex- 
cel in  every  duty,  made  me  the  best  man  in  his  com- 
mand, set  me  to  keep  the  other  chaps  in  good  spirits 
and  make  him  a  good  example  in  the  way  of  man- 
ners. 

Of  course,  our  men  told  nothing  to  civilians  about 
affairs  within  our  family;  but  passers-by  on  the 
road  who  saw  me  undergoing  punishment,  began  to 
spread  the  scandal  until  nobody  in  the  place  would 
speak  to  Sarde  or  call  upon  his  wife. 

Buckie,  the  dear  chap  who  first  had  introduced 
me  to  the  outfit,  was  recently  transferred  to  this  di- 
vision, and  posted  to  Fort  Qu'Appelle.  He  was  my 
friend  in  very  bitter  need,  feeding  me  coffee  when 
I  was  like  to  freeze  on  pack  drill,  rousing  the  other 
fellows  until  they  would  perjure  themselves  to  the 
eyes  in  my  defense,  getting  me  help  with  my  extra 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  137 

work,  turning  the  crowd  against  Sarde.    And  then 
he  used  to  comfort  me  in  private. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  Sarde  was  away  to  Troy, 
and  Buckie  helped  me  at  the  stable  where  I  had  to 
set  the  ring  for  a  stove-pipe  in  the  roof  of  an  A  tent. 
For  some  time  we  were  busy  while  we  measured 
and  cut  the  canvas.  Then,  sitting  on  up-ended  buck- 
ets in  the  warm  dusk,  we  began  the  stitching.  After 
a  morning  talk  with  Sarde  I  felt  so  ill  that  I  asked 
Buckie  if  the  man  intended  to  kill  me. 

"Sarde,"  answered  Buckie,  "says  he'll  tone  you 
down  or  kill  you,  one  or  the  other.  You  need  it  a 
whole  lot.  Why?  Because  you'd  got  to  think  you 
were  Adam  before  the  creation  of  Eve.  The  world 
is  not  inhabited  entirely  by  one  Blackguard.  Sup- 
pose you  think  about  somebody  else  for  a  change." 

That  was  straight  from  the  shoulder  anyway. 
Since  first  I  had  seen  him  a  rookie  of  the  rookiest, 
he  had  become  tremendously  grown-up  into  the 
very  stock  pattern  of  buck  policeman. 

"The  C  Troop  crowd,"  he  went  on,  "think  you're 
the  sort  of  bounder  who  needs  to  live  in  lime-light 
on  salvos  of  applause." 

Buckie's  respectable  soul  was  in  full  revolt  at  my 
enormities.    I  tried  not  to  flinch. 


138  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"I  ain't  much  on  soldiering" — ^he  was  so  nice  in 
the  vemacylar  I— "but  I  been  taking  stock  of  the  men 
who  count,  who  do  things  and  get  the  outfit  a  good 
name." 

I  thought  of  Buckie's  first  advent  on  the  charg- 
ing steed,  and  how  I  halted  his  trooper,  so  that  the 
cavalier  sped  at  me  through  the  air,  gun  still  in 
hand  and  resolute  for  dut^. 

"The  real  men,"  said  he,  "keep  their  nwuths  tight 
except  when  they've  something  to  say.  That  gives 
'em  time  to  think;  you  don't  get  any.  They  obey 
orders,  and  there's  nothing  else  in  life  until  they've 
done  their  job.  So  they've  no  time  to  show  off; 
you  have.  You'd  make  a  showman,  or  a  clown  in 
a  circus,  whereas  this  outfit  is  something  serious." 

I  reminded  Buckie  of  being  really  serious  once 
when  Rain  stole  his  clothes  and  he  paraded  around 
in  my  painted  cow-skin  robe  tracking  a  malefactor. 

"Now,  Sarde,"  he  went  on,  "was  only  a  corporal 
when  he  took  a  prisoner  out  of  Big  Bear's  camp  in 
face  of  two  thousand  guns.  He's  a  man,  and  he'll 
be  superintendent  before  he's  through.  You'll  never 
get  your  stripes.  Why,  Blackguard,  Sarde  wouldn't 
be  a  man  at  all  if  he  allowed  you  to  monkey  with 
his  wife." 

I  told  Buckie  to  pet  me,  or  I'd  cry.    He  said  he 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  ,39 

couldn't  because  he  was  using  his  foot  to  hold  the 
canvas  down. 

Then,  stitching  away  with  sail-needle  and  palm 
thimble,  he  looked  up  at  me  with  just  the  expression 
of  some  prim  old  maid.  "Did  you  ever  hear  tell  " 
he  asked,  "of  old  Fort  Carlton?" 

Rather  t   Fort  Carlton  stood  on  the  bank  of  the 
ice-dad  North  Saskatchewan,  a  cluster  of  framed 
log  houses  inside  a  stockade  with  bastions  on  the 
two  rear  comers.    How  well  I  rememberc-d  the  pic- 
turel   It  was  a  trading  post,  strong  against  bows 
and  arrows,  but  from  the  high  edge  of  the  plains 
even  a  trade  musket  had  range  enough  to  pick  men 
off  m  the  square.    All  that,  I  had  read  as  a  boy  in 
fine  adventure  books,  longing  to  ride  with  the 
Fr«,ch  half-breeds  and  the  Cree  Indians  running 
buffaloe.'  up  there  on  the  plains  above  the  fort     I 
wanted  to  taste  the  pemmican  made  by  their  squaws 
of  bison  beef  and  berries,  to  sail  with  the  gay  bri- 
gades which  carried  that  food  to  other  Hudson's 
Bay  posts  all  down  the  great  Mackenzie.    But  now 
the  bison  herds  were  swept  away,  they  and  the 
hunters  and  the  brave  voyagers. 
"We're  going  there,"  said  Buckie. 
"What,  to  Fort  Carlton?" 
"Yob  bet.    That's  why  Sardf  prdpred  »  stove- 


I40  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

pipe  hole  for  this  tent  It's  to  cover  a  sleigh  for 
his  wife.  The  sleigh  will  be  rigged  as  a  shack  with 
a  stove,  kitchen,  bed,  everything." 

Now  I  began  to  understand  why  men  were  being 
drafted  in  to  Fort  Qu'Appelle,  the  tons  of  harness 
and  gear  we  had  been  overhauling,  Sarde's  visit  to 
Troy  and  lots  of  other  happenings. 

Buckie  began  to  gossip,    i 

"Down  at  the  Hudson's  Bay  store  yesterday  a 
Scotch  half-breed  from  the  North  was  talking  of 
Louis  Riel,  the  man,  you  know,  who  got  up  the  Red 
River  Rebellion  way  back  in  '71.  He  is  up  there 
now,  among  the  old  buffalo  runners  and  voyagers, 
who  used  to  hunt  and  man  the  brigades  for  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  at  Fort  Carlton.  He  is 
spreading  treason  among  the  breeds  and  the  Crees. 
God  has  sent  him,  he  says,  to  raise  war  against  the 
police,  the  white  men  and  the  pope,  to  found  a  re- 
public of  hunters  and  voyagers,  to  be  the  father  of 
all  the  prairie  men.  They  are  to  bum  Fort  Carlton, 
to  kill  all  the  mounted  police,  to  drive  the  whites 
from  the  plains — for  then  the  buffaloes  will  come 
back,  and  their  lodges  will  be  red  with  meat  as  in 
the  good  old  times." 

"So  there'll  be  war?"  I  asked  and  my  heart  was 
jumping  with  excitement. 


THE  SWING  OF  EVENTS  141 

"When  the  grass  comes."  Buckie  threaded  his 
needle  neatly  as  a  housewife.  "War,"  said  he. 
"That's  why  we're  going  to  Carlton,  and  Sarde 
won't  have  much  time  to  spare  for  hazing  you,  eh, 
Blackguard?" 

Buckie  proved  right  in  all  that  he  had  told  me. 
Within  the  week  we  marched,  some  sixteen  men, 
mostly  green  recruits,  each  driving  a  one-horse  sled 
known  as  a  jumper,  laden  with  forage,  bedding,  kit, 
camp  gear,  grub  and  even  fire-wood.    As  on  a  sea 
voyage,  there  was  nothing  to  be  had  by  the  wayside, 
so  our  jumpers  were  laden  like  so  many  little  ships,' 
as  our  flotilla  drove  on  the  great  snows.    The  mer- 
cury was  frozen,  and  at  the  Salt  Plains,  it  was  sixty 
degrees  below  zero,  rough  travel  for  Mrs.  Sarde  in 
her  sleigh-tent,  not  comfortable  for  us.     One  of 
our  fellows.  Crook,  had  his  brain  chilled,  and  in 
high  delirium  drove  off  to  chase  a  star  until  a  iiule 
chap  called  Sheppey  rounded  him  up  and  herded 
him  to  camp.    We  had  to  leave  Crook  at  the  Salt 
Plain  station,  and  Doc,  with  his  face  frozen  off. 
stayed  with  him  by  way  of  nurse. 

Sarde  was  quite  friendly  to  me  on  that  trail,  and 
for  once  I  liked  him  because  he  played  the  man, 
taking  his  share  with  us,  not  with  his  wife.  And 
I  was  happy  trotting  beside  my  jumper,  pulling  my 


143  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


hone  out  of  snowdrift:,  busiest  man  in  the  crowd 
when  we  set  up  the  tents  and  cooked,  rolled  down 
our  beds  and  slept,  broke  up  our  camp  and  marched. 

I  even  made  Buckie  own  up  I  was  not  a  bounder. 

Indeed,  that  five  days'  journey  had  been  quite 
perfect  if  only  one  might  have  left  the  baggage  be- 
hind, and  gone  without  a  cold  tmcomfortable  body, 
a  sled  and  a  weary  horse.  ,The  spirit  needs  no  bag- 
gage to  enter  that  great  White  Silence  of  the  snow- 
field  or  to  visit  the  night  splendors  of  the  star  drift. 

On  our  last  march  of  sixty  miles  we  drove 
through  the  log  village  of  Batoche  where  Louis  Riel 
was  hatching  his  new  rebellion,  and  some  of  his 
hunters  lounged  sullen  in  their  doorways.  There 
we  crossed  the  South  Saskatchewan  and  all  day 
long  were  driving  through  the  land  between  the  two 
branches  of  that  river,  so  very  soon  to  become  the 
seat  of  war.  It  was  dusk  when  we  came  to  the  edge 
of  the  plains,  looking  down  on  the  valley  of  the 
North  Saskatchewan.  It  was  starlight  when  we 
reached  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  swung  round  the 
stockade  to  enter  the  river  gate  of  old  Fort  Carlton. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TBE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR 


'pWO  human  lives  flow  sparkling  down  child- 
±  hood's  merry  rapids,  and  more  sedately  across 
the  sadder  years,  to  draw  together,  then  to  run 
apart,  until  at  last  they  meet  midway  upon  their 
journey,  and  as  one  life  go  married  toward  their 
rest 

Two  rivers  tumbling  down  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
sparkling  through  the  foot-hiUs,  racing  across  the 
plains,  draw  near  together,  then  flow  apart  a  while 
before  they  meet,  and  marry  to  form  the  great  Sas- 
katchewan rolling  toward  the  sea. 

There  is  my  map,  but  I  was  always  bad  in  my 
geography,  and  as  to  history— well,  what  can  you 
expect  of  a  blackguard  ? 

Just  where  the  two  Saskatchewans  first  draw  near, 

and  are  but  fifty  miles  or  so  apart,  our  base,  Fort 

Carlton,  stood  on  the  northern  branch,  and  Batoche, 

the  rebel  camp,  was  on  the  southern  river.  Below 

M3 


i« 


144  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


these,  in  the  land  between  the  rivers,  lay  the  Prince 
Albert  settlement,  and  its  trading  village  stood  on 
the  northern  branch  fifty-five  miles  down-stream 
from  Fort  Carlton.  So  you  see,  the  rebels  com- 
manded the  main  approach  both  to  the  fort  and  the 
settlement.  They  were  strong  enough  to  threaten 
one  while  they  attacked  the  other.  But  neither  fort 
nor  settlement  had  strength  sufficient  to  attack  the 
rebels.    So  much  for  strategy. 

Louis  Riel  commanded  at  Batoche  four  hundred 
buffalo  runners,  dead  shots  at  full  gallop,  and  per- 
haps the  finest  marksmen  in  the  world.  He  had 
two  hundred  Assiniboin  warriors,  and  twenty-two 
hundred  Crees — in  all  three  thousand  men.  His 
envoys  were  at  large  among  the  Black  feet,  and  if 
they  rose — good  night!  Still  worse,  the  Irish  Fe- 
nians in  the  United  States  seemed  able  to  control 
the  government,  for  they  were  openly  preparing,  in 
Riel's  interest,  their  third  armed  raid  upon  Canada. 
Worst  of  all,  we  could  not  arrest  the  rebel  because 
he  happened  to  be  French  Canadian,  and  had  the 
active  sympathy  of  fifteen  hundred  thousand  brave 
compatriots.  Our  first  motion  might  give  the  whole 
Dominion  to  the  flames  of  civil  war. 

I  don't  know  whether  that  paragraph  is  politics 
or  tactics,  but  the  position  was  very  awkward. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,45 

For  eleven  years  now,  with  only  from  three  to 
five  hundred  riders,  the  mounted  police  had  held 
that  big  wild  empire  of  the  plains,  so  that  civilians 
went  entirely  unarmed  because  we  kept  the  peace 
Now  the  settlers  were  threatened  with  every  horror 
of  red  Indian  warfare,  and  they  had  no  guns 

And  we  were  isolated.  No  help  could  reach  the 
plains.  There  was  not  then,  and  is  not  now.  any 
tra.I  connecting  the  plains  wi^h  Eastern  Canada,  or 
with  the  Pacific  coast.  On  either  side  of  us  rolled 
Ae  terrific  and  unbroken  forest,  and  the  Canadian 
Paafic  Railway  was  still  a  string  of  gaps.  When 
Canada  raised  a  field  force  for  our  rescue  the  United 
States  refused  a  passage  for  her  troops.  Neither 
could  England  help  us,  for  the  Russians  were  march- 
ing on  India,  and  war  might  be  declared  at  any 
moment. 

So  everything  depended  on  little  scattered  clus- 
ters of  the  police  and  on  our  big  chief.  Sorrel  Top 
commissioner  of  the  outfit,  gentle,  brave,  strong' 
wise  and  greatly  loved.  All  through  the  winter  he 
had  been  throwing  small  detachments  into  Carlton 
unfl  on  the  first  of  March,  in  '85,  we  numbered  a 
hundred  men.  Fifty  civilians  joined  us  as  volun- 
teers, and  all  the  loyal  Scotch  half-breeds  came  to 
us  for  refuge.    The  rest  of  the  Prince  Albert  set- 


146  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


I 


tiers  held  their  village,  some  of  them  armed  with 
stidcs. 

On  the  twenty-sixth  of  March,  at  2  a.  m.,  a  des- 
patch  came  in  from  Sorrel  Top  to  Paddy,  our  com- 
mandant at  Carlton.  At  three  o'clock  the  rider  was 
released  to  catch  some  supper,  and  from  the  mess- 
room  his  news  went  through  the  fort.  Rich  Mixed 
and  I  were  over  at  stables,, for  Anti,  my  poor  horse, 
had  all  his  pasterns  badly  stocked  from  too  much 
work  patrolling.  So  he  had  some  sugar,  and  we 
were  getting  on  quite  nicely  with  the  treatment  when 
somebody  came  over  from  the  mess-room. 

"That  you,  Buckie?" 

"Remnants  of,"  he  growled. 

I  told  him  I  was  on  picket  again  at  four.  Life 
was  too  good  just  then  to  waste  on  sleep. 

"It's  war,"  said  Buckie. 

War  at  last  I  He  sat  on  the  bail  between  two 
stalls,  drooping  with  weariness,  while  the  lantern 
light  cast  shadows  on  his  face,  dead  white  with 
smoldering  eyes. 

"Turn  in,"  said  I,  "or  you'll  be  crocked  by  morn- 
ing." He  told  me  he  was  on  flying  sentry  until  four, 
then  gave  me  news. 

By  stripping  his  far-flung  outposts,  our  big  chief, 
Sorrel  Top,  had  scratched  up  another  hundred  men 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  147 

and  was  marching  from  Fort  Qu'Appene.  Two 
men  were  badly  frozen,  sixty-five  were  snow-blind, 
the  horses  had  played  out,  and  some  civilian  team- 
sters lagging  behind  were  captured.  Then  a  rebel 
ambush  had  been  discovered  just  four  miles  ahead, 
so  Sorrel  Top,  with  a  sixty-mile  march,  had  swung 
into  Prince  Albert.  There  he  was  resting  twenty- 
four  hours  to  organize  the  settlers  for  defense.  He 
would  arrive  this  day,  the  twenty-sixth,  take  over  our 
command,  and  with  the  combined  force  crush  the  re- 
bellion before  it  got  too  strong.  But  we  were  not 
to  move  until  he  came.  That  is  a  wise  delay  which 
makes  the  road  safe. 

"Who  do  you  think,"  asked  Buckie,  "rode  in  with 
that  despatch?" 

I  supposed  he  would  be  some  poor  B  Trooo  co- 
yote. *^ 

"His  name,"  said  Buckie  impressively  "is  Toe 
Chambers." 

But  that  was  the  name  of  Mrs.  Sarde's  old  lover 
the  Montana  cowboy.     Had  he  joined  the  force? 

"Asked  for  you.  Blackguard." 

"Go,  fetch  him." 

By  the  time  I  had  saddled  Anti  and  bridled  him 
—he  was  Anti-everything,  especiaUy  the  bit— Btickic 
came  back  with  Chambers.  He  was  a  suH.icious, 
jealous,  dear-eyed  sort  of  beaK  without  «ny  Muidl 


148  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

talk.  He  sized  me  up,  judging  my  points  as  though 
he  were  asked  to  buy  me,  but  not  one  word  would 
he  say  until  Buckie  cleared.  Then  he  spoke  slowly, 
tersely,  and  with  weight  in  all  he  said,  most  clean 
of  heart,  direct  and  sterling  man. 

Miss  Burrows,  he  told  me,  had  wrote  from  Troy 
in  the  British  possessions,  to  Loco,  her  fool  uncle. 
Claimed  that  she'd  met  in  the  cars  going  west  a  man 
which  belonged  to  the  police,  name  of  La  Mancha. 
Was  that  my  name? 

I  owned  up. 

Name  sounded  Dago,  but  I  seemed  to  be  white. 
Had  treated  her  white,  anyways.  He  thanked  me, 
and  I  bowed. 

At  Troy  this  lady  got  off  the  cars  to  nuqry  an 
officer,  name  of  S'irde.    Was  he  any  good? 

"No." 

She  was  Sarde's  wife,  she  wrote,  and  heaps  mis- 
erable. 

I  could  have  opened  Mr.  Chambers'  eyes.  His 
lady  had  a  smile  for  one  man,  "Oh,  thank  you, 
how  nice  I"  for  another,  dropped  her  gloves  for  a 
third — she  was  great  at  dropping  parcels — made  eyes 
at  all  the  rest.  She  had  three- fourths  of  our  gar 
rison  in'^  state  of  day-dreams  and  fond  hopes  for 
more,  the  kind  of  flirt  who  ogles  niggers  so  that 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  149 

they  go  crazy  and  have  to  be  burned.  I  could  not 
teU  Chambers  all  I  thought  of  his  lady,  who  wrote 
that  her  heart  was  broke. 

Nothing  had  this  real  man  to  say  about  his  own 
engagement  to  the  woman,  of  the  ranch  he  had 
stocked  with  cattle  under  her  brand,  registered  in 
her  name,  not  his  own  "with  the  stock  association 
up  to  Helena."  He  told  me  nothing  then  of  the 
•dobe  cabin,  the  fixings,  the  pi-anner,  all  for  her,  of 
the  months'  wages  he  had  given  that  she  might  get 
eddicated  down  in  civilization,  or  of  the  callous 
way  she  had  betrayed  him. 

Only  he  stiffened,  and  his  voice  came  near  to 
breaking  as  he  told  me  of  suspicions.  This  guy 
she'd  married  up  with  must  be  some  swine,  and 
needed  shooting  a  whole  lot  for  making  her  un- 
happy. So  he'd  rode  to  Troy  and  found  her  gone. 
That  meant,  I  suppose,  that  he  had  sacrificed  his  liv- 
ing, to  ride  a  thousand  miles  for  a  woman  who  had 
not  even  troubled  to  send  a  post-card.  At  Troy  he 
reckoned  to  find  the  preacher  who  had  hitched  up 
that  team.  I  had  tried  also,  but  only  discovered 
that  Miss  Burrows  went  with  Mr.  Sarde  from  Fort 
Qu'Appelle  for  a  sleigh-ride,  and  came  back  married. 
Chambers  had  tracked  the  pair  to  Troy,  where  he 
found  that  the  ceremony  had  been  performed  by 


ISO  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Happy  Bill,  a  converted  railroad  fireman,  not  in 
holy  orders;  not  licensed  to  marry  people.  He  had 
broken  the  law  to  perform  a  sacrilege. 

"He  ain't  no  branded  preacher,"  so  Chambers 
put  it,  "but  a  maverick  which  ain't  allowed  in  the 
herd,  and  railroad  men  is  worse  than  sheep  herders, 
anyhow." 

Sarde  had  found  the  woman  in  my  arms,  and  as 
she  played  crooked  with  Jiim,  so  he  had  done  with 
her.  There  had  been  no  marriage.  She  was  not 
his  wife. 

"And  now,"  said  Chambers,  "I  done  joined  the 
police,  to  follow  this  here  Sarde.  Your  general 
give  me  a  despatch  to  ride,  and  I  shorely  burned 
this  trail  to  get  here  quick."  He  pulled  the  service- 
revolver  from  its  holster. 

"I  hain't  stuck  on  this  hyre  soldier  gun,"  he  said, 
"but  I  had  to  hang  up  my  Colt  at  the  Troy  hotel — 
so  this  will  have  to  do.    Where's  Sarde?" 

"I'd  like  to  see  Sarde  kiUed,"  said  I,  "but  I'd 
hate  to  see  you  hanged." 

"Where's  Sarde?" 

"Search  me,"  said  I,  "he's  not  my  property." 

"Where's  Sarde?" 

"Find  him,"  said  I,  and  swinging  to  the  saddle, 
rode  away. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR 


IS« 


At  4  A.  M.  I  relieved  the  chap  on  picket  just  at 
the  brow  of  the  plains  where  the  road  curves  over 
southward,  toward  Batoche.  The  orders  he  re- 
peated showed  quite  clearly  that  Paddy  expected  the 
rebels  to  rush  the  fort  at  dawn. 

Orion  was  setting  already,  and  the  stillness  be- 
came  more  terrible  every  moment,  the  live  menadng 
silence.  Before  I  had  even  time  for  an  alarm  shot 
the  rebel  scouts  might  rush  me.  for  if  they  meant 
to  attack  the  fort  at  dawn  it  was  high  time  they 
put  me  out  of  aption.  Stars  rose  upon  my  left,  they 
set  upon  my  right,  then  the  earth's  edge  darkened 
black  against  the  east,  and  it  looked  as  if  some 
«ngel  with  a  brush  made  a  faint  wash  of  stars  to 
paint  the  sky. 

Up  the  hill  behind  me  cmie  thud  of  hoofs,  and 
swish  of  skidding  runners,  clank  of  harness,  voices. 
"Gid-upyoul  Haw.MoUie!"  I  sensed  a  mounted 
man  leading  a  string  of  sleighs  up  the  long  hill  from 
the  fort,  but  never  saw  them  until  they  topped  the 
brow  curving  past  me  lUmy-gray  like  ghosts.  They 
were  bound,  they  told  me.  to  get  the  traders'  stores 
from  Duck  Lake  Post  before  the  rebels  came. 
I  heard  reveilM  sound,  its  notes  faint  silver.  tin- 


Si 
I 


152  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

gling  the  Ane  air.  The  eastward  sky  was  lemon 
flecked  with  rose,  the  snow-field  was  changing  from 
indigo  to  lilac,  then  the  red  sun  shone  level  through 
poplar  groves,  and  made  their  frosted  branches 
cornelian  in  mist  of  fire.  The  sky  was  cobalt  next, 
and  shadows  like  blue  pools  filled  all  the  hollows, 
while  the  poplar  groves  were  changing  to  tremulous 
white  diamond.  It  was  time  for  breakfast,  but  my 
relief  was  late.  Then  I  was  drowsy  pacing  old  Anti 
on  a  measured  beat  to  keep  us  both  awake.  Half 
sleeping  I  heard  at  distant  intervals  the  bugles  call- 
ing "Dress,"  "Stables,"  "Grub  pUe." 

The  string  of  teams  came  rattling  homeward  now, 
at  a  sharp  trot,  taking  the  hills  on  a  lope,  the  team- 
sters shouting  chaff  one  to  another,  the  men  in  the 
sleigh  beds  with  their  carbines  ready,  peering  back. 
The  sleighs  came  past  me  empty,  and  somebody 
shouted,  "Rebels!  Run,  Blackguard  I  Rebels  com- 
ing!" 

"Send  my  relief,"  I  yelled  as  they  went  swinging 
down  the  curve,  the  first  patrol  of  the  regiment 
which  ever  showed  its  tail  t  an  enemy. 

For  a  long  time  I  scanned  the  rolling  plain  ahead 
with  all  its  frozen  pools  and  clumps  of  aspen.  There 
was  no  sign  of  rebels.  Then  from  the  fort  I  heard 
the  bugle  crying  a  new  call :  "Boot  and  saddle!" 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  153 

Not  knowing  what  that  was,  I  rode  to  the  look- 
out, from  whence  I  could  see  the  square  aswarm 
with  men,  all  falling  in  like  atoms  of  some  crystal 
until  a  general  parade  stood  rigid  on  command.  It 
was  but  a  mile.  I  could  see  Paddy  making  a  speech, 
and  heard  the  thin  thread  of  sound,  lost  in  a  riot  of 
cheering.  Then  there  were  short  sharp  barks  of 
command  whUe  the  advance  guard  formed  fours, 
the  little  brass  seven-pounder  swung  her  little  tail, 
dismounted  men  piled  into  all  the  sleighs  sent  out 
again  to  load  at  Duck  Lake  Post,  and  the  rear- 
guard covered  all— out  through  the  water-gate, 
round  the  stockade,  across  the  trampled  meadow 
and  up  the  timbered  hillside.  Two  scouts  came 
ramping  past  me  and  plowed  on  into  the  blinding 
glare.  Next  Paddy,  attended  by  his  bugler,  rode 
up  to  the  hill  crest,  and  I  begged  him  to  let  me 
come. 

"Fall  in,"  said  he,  "rear-guard."  So  I  spurred 
through  the  drifts  to  get  there  lest  he  should  change 
his  mind. 

The  column  was  in  half  sections,  the  last  consist- 
ing of  Buckie  who  fancied  himself  with  the  stiff 
cavalry  seat,  and  the  Montana  cow-hand  who  rode 
easy.  I  dropped  in  behind  them  and  called  Joe 
Chambers  back.    Had  he  seen  Sarde,  I  asked. 


154    THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


He  had  not 

Sarde  was  jtut  ahead,  riding  abreaat  of  the  cd- 
unrn  in  full  view,  but  Chamber*  did  not  know  hit 
enemy  by  sight,  and  Buckie  had  not  told. 

"You  see  that  officer?"  I  asked. 

"Your  partner,"  said  the  cowboy,  "says  that's  In- 
spector Brown." 

"Yes,  Bunty  Brown,"  said  I. 

"Your  partner  called  him  Jocko,"  said  the  cow- 
boy. "So  that's  Sarde  1"  He  whipped  out  his  gun 
and  spurred  forward. 

"Old  Bunt  was  a  jockey,"  I  explained,  "before 
he  went  to  the  bad  and  joined  the  police." 

Chambers  fell  back  beside  me  and  sheathed  his 
gun. 

"Seen  Mrs.  Sarde?"  I  asked,  to  change  the  sub- 
ject 

"Sent  her  a  note,"  said  Chambers;  "she  sent  a 
letter  back." 

He  would  not  tell  me  what  was  in  that  letter. 

Ten  miles  we  rode  through  park-land  with  its 
little  tarns  for  ducks,  its  aspen  groves  and  drifted 
glades  where  soft  snow  lay  neck-deep  beside  our 
trail.  Then,  as  we  passed  through  a  narrow  belt  of 
bush,  word  came  from  man  to  man,  that  the  scouts 
were  racing  in.     Beyond  the  timber  our  £oluina 


IHE  PASSIONS  OP  WAR  ,55 

formed  front  on  the  left,  extending  out  at  right  «i- 
glei  from  the  road  for  nearly  a  hundred  yards.  The 
big  sleighs  plunged  through  drifu  like  boats  in  a 
storm  at  sea,  forming  a  rough  and  broken  line  of 
nunpart.  Then  we  dismounted  into  snow  breast- 
deep,  and  sent  back  all  the  horses  into  the  bush  for 
shelter  with  one  man  to  each  bunch  of  four,  while 
the  rest  of  us  took  cover  in  dusters  behind  the 
sleighs,  and  our  officers  tramped  out  a  pathway 
close  behind  us. 

The  open  land  ahead  was  only  about  a  hundred 
yards  across  encircled  by  clumps  of  bush.  On  our 
far  right,  across  the  road,  a  lane  deep^rifted,  went 
off  to  a  litUe  shack  on  rising  ground.  That  farm 
had  a  field  enclosed  with  a  snake  fence  which  filled 
the  angle  between  lane  and  road. 

Out  there  along  the  road  beside  the  fence  was 
Paddy,  with  our  interpreter.  Joe  McKay,  a  half- 
breed,  a  chap  we  liked.  He  was  interpreting  to  the 
skipper  while  an  Indian,  wrapped  in  a  dingy  white 
blanket,  stood  making  a  long  oration.  This  was  the 
Cree  chief,  Beardy,  who  owned  the  farm  op  our 
right  He  seemed  to  be  talking  forever  and  ever, 
amen. 

I  felt  it  was  aU  some  endless,  rambling  dream, 
irom  which  I  should  wake  for  breakfast.    Beside 


•m 


IS6     THE  CHEERFXJL  BLACKGUARD 

me  on  my  right  was  Chambers,  and  half  my  mind 
was  listening  while  he  talked.  He  told  me  of  the 
ranch  he  had  made  for  Miss  Burrows,  the  shack  he 
had  built  for  her,  the  fixings,  the  omymints.  Those 
made  me  chuckle,  while  the  other  half  of  my  mind 
wondered  resentfully  what  the  joke  was  about  It 
seemed  profane  to  laugh  while  in  my  dream  I  knew 
I  was  badly  frightened. 

Out  on  the  road  the  Indian  suddenly  snatched  at 
the  interpreter's  carbine,  but  McKay  was  on  the 
alert,  and  emptied  his  revolver  into  Beardy,  who 
crumpled  up,  staggered  against  the  fence  and  lay 
there  twitching.  Our  leader  swung  rotmd  in  the 
saddle,  and  "Fire,  boys  I"  he  shouted. 

"Please,  sir,  you're  right  in  the  wayl"  cried  the 
seven-pounder  gun. 

"Oh,  never  mind  me  I"  laughed  Paddy.  Beardy 
had  held  him  in  talk  while  the  rebels,  four  times 
our  strength,  traveling  light  on  snow-shoes,  hidden 
within  the  bush,  closed  in  a  horseshoe  formation 
with  our  line  between  its  prongs,  almost  surrounded 
at  point-blank  range  for  the  coming  massacre.  We 
faced  a  blinding  snow-glare  toward  the  sun,  where 
trees  of  branched  sprayed  diamond  sparkled  along 
their  roots  with  jets  of  ^.ame,  and  gusts  of  smoke 
like  pearls  rolled  in  serene  air.    We  fired  out  a  blue 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,57 

•moke  film,  our  bullet,  whipping  the  crert.  of  now- 
drift  into  spray,  «,d  du«t  of  diamond  feU  from 
the  fairy  woods. 

So  rifles  blared  and  wnoked.  so  bullets  whined  at.d 
wng,  but  still  the  dre«n  sense  told  me  it  was  u.  ^ 
mere  twittering  as  of  summer  birds  amid  the  r     i,.> 
silence  of  the  plains  which  fiUed  the  vault  of  luaw  • 
sun-high  with  peace.    Then  my  mind  dear. ;,  'or  a 
gust  of  lead  was  smashing  the  sleigh-box  above  nj 
shattermg  and  splintering  planks  into  long  sliver/ 
I  knew  that  our  force  was  helplessly  bogged  down 
ambushed  and  being  destroyed.    After  one  shot  the 
seven-pounder  jammed.    Nine  gallant  civilian  vol- 
unteers were  killed  attempting  to  charge  the  shack 
upon  our  right.    The  enemy  at  both  ends  enfiladed 
our  broken  line. 

Then  in  the  bush  I  saw  a  man  leap,  falling 
Buckie  let  out  a  little  yelp  of  bliss,  but  this  was  my 
meat  and  I  claimed  it.  "And  what's  the  next  ar- 
tide  ?"  said  I.  At  my  side  I  heard  something  grunt 
"Pig!"  said  I.  but  Chambers  rolled  over  against  me 
So  Budtie  and  I  let  our  carbines  cool  off.  while  we 
watched  Chambers  to  see  what  was  wrong  with  him. 
The  red  flush  faded  under  the  tan.  the  strong  fea- 
tures became  thin,  pinched,  frozen.  His  buffalo 
coat  spread  broad  upon  the  snow,  the  sunlight  blazed 


i 


iS8  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


on  scarlet  serge  and  glittering  buttons,  but  his  face 
was  in  gray  shadow. 

"Wake  up,  old  man,"  said  I,  stripping  his  serge 
apart  to  give  him  air.    "Where  is  it,  Joe  ?" 

His  fingers  plucked  at  my  sleeves.  He  whispered 
but  I  could  not  catch  the  words.  Then  the  day- 
white  face  relaxed,  a  blue  shadow  like  rising  water 
flooded  over  it.  The  lips  parted.  I  took  a  le*ter  out 
of  the  dead  man's  pocket. 

A  bullet  whipped  fur  from  my  sleeve,  one  crashed 
against  my  carbine  so  that  it  stung  my  fingers,  and 
half  a  dozen  shattered  through  the  sleigh  as  I  turned 
back  to  the  fighting.  Those  shadowy  figures  n:?v- 
ing  through  the  bush  toward  our  rear  must  be 
stopped  quickly. 

Just  thai  Doctor  Miller  came  mooching  along  be- 
hind me,  and  half  a  dozen  men  were  begging  him 
to  take  cover,  while  in  a  gentle  drawling  voice  he 
told  us  not  to  fuss. 

"Fine  scrapping,  boys,  make  the  most  of  the  en- 
tertainment. Just  been  shot  in  the  pocketbook  my- 
self. Bullet  hit  a  pack  o'  debts  but  nary  one  receipt 
So,  this  man's  promoted,  eh?"  He  knelt  down  be- 
side Joe's  body.  "Beyond  my  jurisdiction,  Black- 
guard, eh  ("' 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  159 

He  gave  me  the  dead  man's  belt  of  ammunition, 
dusted  the  snow  from  his  knees  as  he  stood  up,  and 
went  lounging  back  down  the  line,  giving  a  new 
heart,  a  finer  courage  to  every  man  he  passed. 

Red  Saunders  had  found  his  place  too  warm  a 
comer,  so  he  climbed  over  Buckie  and  lay  down 
on  the  dead  man's  outspread  overcoat,  his  legs  across 
my  own.    He  said  he  always  'ated  getting  wet. 

"Happy  ?"  I  asked  him,  for  I  liked  the  sailor  hobo 
in  those  days. 

"'Ungry.  Gimme  blood  I  Did  ye  see  Sarde  ?  'E's 
the  only  h'orficer  lying  dahn.  Got  Gilchrist's  car- 
bine. I  kicked  'im-by  h'accident,  cruel  'ard.  too. 
'Ad  to  appollergise." 

"Aim  lower,"  said  I,  "point-blank.  And  lie  low; 
your  blazing  red  hair  draws  fire." 

My  next  shot  got  my  man,  at  least  I  think  so,  al- 
though Buckie  claimed  him. 

"If  I'm  knocked."  said  Red,  "I  'ereby  wills  and 
bequeaths  to  you.  Blackguard,  h'all  my  just  debts. 
Share  up  them  cartridges  and  don't  be  a  'og." 

To  cheer  up  my  Brat  in  hospital  at  Fort  French  I 
had  sent  him  by  the  last  mail  out  a  nice  dirge  set  to 
our  old  Spanish  tune  of  Alcala.  So  I  began  to  sing 
that  while  I  loaded,  pumped  and  fired : 


''ill 


i6o  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Cany  Brat  reverently,  gently,  slow. 
Pace  by  the  trunnions  with  patient  tread 
Over  the  drifts  of  the  rolling  snow 
With  arms  reversed,  for  the  dead." 


"Cheerful,  eh?"  was  Red's  pungent  comment 

"Little  we  thought  of  him  while  we  shared 
All  that  was  worst  in  the  long  campaign. 
Little  he  guessed  that  we  really  cared: 
But  drums  roll  now,  for  the  slain. 

"Spreading  the  flag  o'er  his  last  long  sleep. 
Leading  the  charger  he  may  not  ride ; 
Though  for  the  living  the  ways  are  steep 
The  road  for  the  dead  rolls  wide. 

"Bravely  he  suffer'd,  and  manly  fought. 
Great  with  Death's  majesty,  rides  he  there. 
Royal  the  honors  he  dearly  bought, 
"The  peace  which  we  may  not  share." 

"Oh,  shut  it,"  Red  wailed. 

I  fired  once  more  at  a  pearl  of  smoke  under  the 
diamond  trees,  while  I  heard  the  death-scream  of 
a  horse  at  the  rear,  the  shouting  of  orders  and  then 
the  bugle  crying,  "Cease  firing!    Retire!" 

The  rebels  were  charging.  The  horses  led  up  to 
our  line  were  bucking,  fighting,  breaking  loose,  fall- 
ing as  the  teamsters  backed  them  to  the  sleighs. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  i6i 

Anti  went  down  dead  as  I  mounted.  I  saw  a  team- 
ster crumple  up,  the  chap  whose  load  of  .coal  I  had 
burned  to  make  him  speak,  Chatter  McNabb! 

Then  I  went  mad  with  hatred  of  the  rebels,  I  was 
mad  with  everything,  with  everybody,  jostling  Chat- 
ter's horses  into  place,  snatching  the  traces  up  and 
hooking  on.  swearing  at  Red's  bungling  attempts  to 
help  me.  I  shouted  at  Chatter  to  keep  his  hair  on 
for  I  wouldn't  let  him  be  scalped. 

I  dragged  him,  all  white  with  snow  out  of  the 
drifts,  hoisted  him  to  the  sleigh,  and  tumbled  him 
into  the  sleigh-bed  all  of  a  heap.  There  was  Sarde 
in  the  sleigh-bed  teUing  me  to  make  haste,  for  he 
had  business  with  the  officer  commanding,  needed 
swift  transport.  I  hated  him  for  the  trick  he  had 
played  on  a  woman,  I  hated  him  for  Joe  Chambers' 
death,  I  hated  him  too  much  to  look  at  him.  or 
speak,  but  jumped  to  the  driver's  seat,  and  stand- 
ing on  it  to  get  a  better  purchase,  lashed  the  team 
to  a  gallop  hoisting  them  over  the  drifts  in  flying 
snow  surf  and  a  hail  of  lead. 

And  then  I  heard  a  yell  from  the  rear,  shouts  that 
a  wounded  man  was  being  left  behind.  I  must  go 
back.  But  Sarde  heard  nothing  of  that,  and  cared 
for  nothing  except  his  errand  to  the  commanding 
officer. 


■ii» 

<r,l[j 


i62  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Drive  on  I"  he  shouted  at  me  as  I  swung  the 
team.  "Drive  on  I    I  order  you  to  drive  on !" 

I  swung  the  sleigh  sharp  to  spill  him,  drove  back 
to  where  some  fellows  were  lifting  the  wounded 
man,  then,  standing  on  the  seat  I  threatened  Sarde 
with  my  whip. 

"Get  out,  you  cur!"  I  screamed  at  him.  "You're 
a  coward!  A  coward!  Hear,  you  chaps!  I  charge 
this  man  with  cowardice  in  the  field!  Get  out  of 
my  sleigh  or  I'll  flog  you !" 

The  wounded  man  was  lifted  on  board,  the  rest 
of  the  chaps  piled  in  to  ease  him  through  the  jolt- 
ing, and  once  more  I  swung  my  team  round  to  a 
gallop  joining  the  retreat  through  clouds  of  flying 
snow.  A  sharp  jolt  brought  us  up  to  the  firm 
ground  of  the  road,  and  I  swerved  right,  tailing  in 
with  the  outfit  at  a  swinging  trot. 

We  had  left  twelve  men  dead  in  the  field,  we  had 
eight  wounded  in  the  sleighs— one  of  them  dying. 
We  knew  that  we  were  thrashed,  had  let  red  war 
loose  on  all  the  settlements. 

The  last  dropping  shots  astern  gave  way  to  si- 
lence, the  glare  was  no  'onger  blinding  in  our  eyes, 
our  confused  rush  found  itself  and  was  a  disciplined 
column  in  retreat.    In  the  presence  of  wounded  and 


u 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,63 

dying  men  a  hushed  quiet  fell  upon  us  like  that  of 
the  Holy  Eucharist.    I  drove  on,  praying. 

Then  I  remembered  Sarde  with  a  sudden  bitter- 
ness^ and  called  back  laughirg,  "Say,  boys,  where's 
aarde,  the  coward  ?" 

^    "In  your  sleigh.  Constable,"  he  answered  quietly, 
is  there  a  non-commissioned  officer  with  us'  You 
Sergeant  Boyle,  put  that  man  under  arrest." 

"Conshider  yerself,"  said  Boyle  in  his  delicious 
brogue,  touching  my  shoulder. 

"And  when  we  reach  the  fort,"  my  enemy  con- 
tmued,  "you'll  put  that  man  in  the  guard-room  " 

But  Boyle  was  nettled,  for  that,  at  such  a  time 
was  an  act  of  spite.  "Constable  la  Mancha,"  he 
shouted,  so  that  all  might  hear,  "for  charging  an 
officer  wit-  cowardice  in  the  field,  ye'U  be  conshider- 
m  yershelf  under  close  arrest,  d'ye  hear  me?" 

"You  witness,"  said  I,  "to  my  charge  of  coward- 
ice." 

"Silence,  prisoner  I" 

I  handed  my  reins  to  Red  Saunders  as  off  man. 
Well,  Sergeant,"  Sarde  became  affable,  "might 
have  been  worse  weather,  eh  ?" 

The  sergeant  turned  his  back  on  an  officer  under 
charge  of  cowardice,  and  a  trooper  at  the  tail  end 


11 


i64  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

of  the  sleigh  asked  hi*  ntigbbor,  "When  will  Sarde 
be  court-martialed?"  From  that  moment  the  out- 
fit treated  Sarde  as  a  leper. 

Meanwhile  I  sulked,  humped  on  the  driving  seat, 
though  the  blue  sky  and  the  inir  snow-fields  catkd 
on  my  soul  to  rest,  to  be  at  peace,  and  shamed  by 
distracted  spirit  with  their  quiet.  There  was  silence 
in  that  heaven  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  teach- 
ing me  not  to  care,  never  to  hate.  I  think  I  went 
off  to  sleep. 

As  we  came  to  the  rim  of  the  plains  looking  down 
on  Fort  Carlton,  we  saw  dusters  of  men  in  the 
square  waiting  for  news  of  victory;  and  over  to  the 
right  on  the  Prince  Albert  trail  old  Sorrel  Top's  re- 
lief force — come  too  late — was  swinging  down  the 
curves  of  the  long  hill. 


m 


"jo  Dear — I  can't  bare  it  any  longer  i  ain't  got 
nothing  to  love  it's  up  to  you  take  me  away  or  i'U 
kill  myself.  The  first  nite  Mister  Sardes  on  duty 
meat  me  outside  the  stockade  i'U  bring  a  bundle  just 
round  the  comer  on  the  left  as  you  go  out  so  they 
wont  see  us  from  the  bastion  Come  at  nine. 
"Your  broken  hearted 

"Vi." 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,65 

There  is  the  letter  which  Joe  Chambers  was  try- 
ing to  give  me  when  he  died.  It  made  me  sorry  for 
Sarde,  ashamed  that  I'd  lost  my  temper  and  brought 
a  false  charge  against  him.  He  had  been  anything 
but  coward  on  that  winter  march  from  Qu'Appelle, 
had  treated  me  half  decently  ever  since,  and  cer- 
tainly played  the  man  at  Duck  Uke  fight.  Of 
course,  an  officer  should  be  a  gentleman,  has  a  job 
m  which  any  one  else  is  a  misfit,  but  that  was 
Sarde's  misfortune,  and  not  his  fault.  A  pig  is  a 
pig.  so  one  should  make  the  best  of  him  as  pork, 
and  not  expect  his  meat  to  be  caviar. 

I  was  in  the  cells  with  plenty  of  time  for  sleep 
and  remorse  while  all  the  boys  were  at  work  through 
the  night  and  the  day  after  Duck  Lake  fight. 
Toward  evening  Buckie  came  to  see  how  I  was 
getting  on,  and  when  he  found  me  starving  brought 
some  grub.  The  provost  guard  had  been  withdrawn, 
he  told  me,  because  the  whole  garrison  served  the 
relief  on  patrol,  picket  and  the  inner  line  of  de- 
fense. The  men  on  fatigue  were  lugging  the  stock 
out  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  store  into  the  square.  They 
swamped  the  grub  with  coal-oil,  piled  the  dry  goods 
and  burned  them,  and  had  been  told  to  help  them- 
selves to  the  jewelry.    At   .nidnight   we   should 


m 


i66  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


abandon  and  burn  the  fort  to  fall  back  upon  the 
threatened  settlements. 

Now  I  must  explain  that  there  was  only  one  en- 
trance to  the  fort,  the  water-gate,  a  square  tunnel 
through  the  log  building  \<rhich  fronted  upon  the 
North  Saskatchewan.  As  vc  .  1-ft  the  fort  through 
this  tunnel,  the  guard-rcpi  .iras  on  the  left  The 
guard-room  stove  had  an  iron  pipe  which  went  up 
through  the  ceiling  to  warm  the  surgery  on  the  up- 
per floor.  Next  to  the  surgerv  was  a  ward  where 
lay  the  two  wounded  men  I  had  rescued.  Sergeant 
Gilchrist,  shot  through  the  thigh,  and  Chatter  Mc- 
Nabb,  shot  through  the  lungs.  The  orderly  in 
charge  of  them  was  Baugh,  the  chap  who  got  his 
face  frozen  off  on  our  march  from  Fort  Qu'Ap- 
pelle.  He  had  come  on  by  the  stage  sleigh  conva- 
lescent. 

Buckie  had  been  at  work  with  Sergeant-Major 
Dann  up  in  the  surgery.  They  had  emptied  a  cou- 
ple of  paillasses,  stuffed  them  with  clean  hay  and 
placed  them  in  the  sleigh  set  apart  for  the  two' 
wounded  men.  At  midnight  Buckie  was  to  help  the 
orderly  to  get  them  down  to  that  sleigh.  Since  the 
guard-room  stove  had  gone  out,  the  cells  were  so 
beastly  cold  that  I  asked  Buckie  to  bring  me  down 
the  stack  of  old  hay  he  had  left  on  the  surgery  floor. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  167 

He  laughed,  telling  me  to  come  out  on  duty  and  get 
warm  with  work.  He  left  the  door  wide  open,  but 
I  was  too  sulky  even  to  leave  the  bed  where  I  lay 
trying  to  shiver  myself  into  a  sweat. 

Late  in  the  evening  some  half-breed  refugees 
were  quartered  in  the  guard-room,  and  made  a 
hearty  fire  which  warmed  me  up.    I  could  have  slept 
but  for  their  clatter  of  taL.,  and  then  they  got  the 
stove  red.   and  the  heat  was  beyond  endurance. 
Roasted  out  of  my  cell  I  told  the  half-breeds  to 
tame  their  beastly  stove  or  they  would  fire  the  fort 
and  burn  the  wounded  men  in  hospital.    The  breeds 
were  merely  insolent,  so  I  took  down  my  side-arms 
from  a  peg,  slung  on  the  belt,  loaded  the  gun  and 
flounced  out  in  a  huflf,  refusing  to  stay  in  jail  an- 
other minute  unless  the  authorities  kept  my  prison 
decent. 

1  found  myself  in  the  covered  gateway,  and  on 
my  right  was  the  square  with  a  bustle  of  men  load- 
ing sleighs.  On  my  left  were  the  gates  ajar  with 
the  sentry  pacing  his  beat.  Beyond  him  lay  the 
river  winding  through  that  quiet  starlit  wilderness 
which  is  the  only  medicine  for  perturbed  spirits.  I 
noticed  the  gear  on  the  wall  for  fighting  fires  and 
took  down  the  ax  which  I  hefted  and  threw  across 
my  shoulder.  The  sentry  was  only  a  B  Troop  man. 


i68  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

lo  I  told  him  I  had  been  sent  out  to  cut  a  waggy,  to 
repair  the  broken  mutt  of  a  whiffleswoggle.  Any- 
thing is  good  enough  for  B  Troop. 

Outside  I  swung  off  to  the  left,  and  all  I  cared  for 
in  the  world  just  then  was  to  be  alone  with  my  dog, 
and  my  bitter  heart,  there  in  the  quiet.  But  round- 
ing the  end  of  the  wall  I  came  upon  Mrs.  Sarde. 
Then  I  remembered  her  letter,  her  assignation  with 
Joe  Chambers  at  that  time  and  that  place.  Of 
.course,  she  must  be  attendid  to,  so  I  raised  my  cap. 

"Oh!"  she  said.  "How  you  frightened  me  1  And 
I've  waited  hours.    Oh,  Joe  1" 

"Joe  couldn't  come — sent  me." 

"Mr.  la  Mancha!" 

"At  your  service.  I  suppose  you  thought  I  was 
your  lover's  ghost." 

"His  ghost?  Say,  what  d'you  mean?  Oh,  Mr.  la 
Mancha,  he  must  have  sent  a  letter,  a  message, 
something." 

So  she  had  not  been  told.  It  was  damned  awk- 
ward. I  set  my  ax  against  the  palisade.  "Joe  has 
been  hurt,"  I  explained  as  I  oent  over  her,  "shot 
in  the  fighting  yesterday." 

"Dead  ?"  came  her  awestruck  whisper. 
•     "Dead.    He  told  me  to  tell  you." 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,69 

"I  must  go  to  him,"  she  sobbed 

"You  needn't  worry,"  I  told  her.  "I  got  your 
letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  destroyed  it  You're  all 
right." 

She  was  crying  convulsively  and  there  is  nothing 
that  annoys  me  more. 

"Don't  cry,"  said  I,  "you  know  you  don't  really 
care,  so  what's  the  good  of  shamming?" 

She  tried  hysterics. 

"Drop  that,"  I  told  her.  "What's  the  good  of 
play-acting  at  me?  You  know  you  can't  fool  me 
Drop  it." 

"Oh,"  she  wailed,  "how  dare  you  say  I  don't 
care!  You've  b-broken  my  h-heart" 
"Drop  it." 

She  gulped,  pulled  herself  together  and  looked 
up.    "WeU?" 

"Now  look  here,"  I  told  her,  "you  stop  playing 
the  fool.  You  asked  this  man  to  run  away  with 
you.  If  you'd  cared  for  him  the  least  little  bit,  you 
wouldn't  have  asked  a  soldier  on  active  service  to 
get  himself  court-martialed  and  shot  for  deserting 
in  the  face  of  the  enemy." 

"I  never—" 

"Don't  lie.     Don't  play  crocodile  tears  on  me. 


MKROCOrr  MSOIUTION   TBT  CHAtT 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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I70  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Stop  shamming  and  lying  for  once  in  your  mean 
little  life.  Joe  came  to  save  you  from  yourself,  and 
died  in  the  attempt." 

That  brought  her  to  bay. 

"You're  cruel.  You're  unjust  You're  insulting. 
You're  a  brute !" 

"Chuck  it,"  said  L  "You've  got  to  face  the  truth 
this  once  because  it  may  save  other  lives.  You  told 
me  you'd  always  despised  him,  thought  he  was 
stupid,  dull,  a  fool,  played  with  him,  used  him,  ac- 
cepted his  presents,  borrowed  his  pay  and  had  him 
to  flirt  with  and  keep  yourself  in  practise.  'It  does 
'em  good,'  you  told  me.  Then  you  lied  to  him  and 
left  him.  in  the  lurch.  Joe  told  me,"  here  I  had  to 
improvise,  "on  the  morning  of  his  death,  that  you 
expected  him  to  run  away  with  you,  through  an 
enemy's  country,  in  time  of  war.  He  saw  through 
you  at  last.  He  said  he'd  see  you  damned  first,  and 
that's  the  message  I  bring  to  you  from  the  dead." 

She  held  her  hands  to  her  ears  screaming,  "Oh. 
let  me  off  1  Let  me  go!" 

"Go,"  said  I,  standing  aside  and  pointing  toward 
the  gate,  "cut  along,  young  woman,  back  to  your 
duty." 

She  crouched  down,  cowering  against  the  wall. 
"I  daren't,"  she  whispered,  "he'll  kill  met" 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,7, 

"Serve  you  jolly  well  right  if  he  did.  There 
isn't  a  man  with  any  manhood  in  him  would  stand 
you  for  a  day." 

And  I  was  sorry  for  her  all  the  time.  To  be  so 
mean  a  creature  must  be  a  wretched  fate,  endowed 
with  pleasures  but  no  happiness.  Like  a  constrict- 
mg  snake  she  was  created  to  crush  the  manhood  out 
of  men.  to  slaver  them  over,  to  destroy  them,  and 
hunt  for  more.  To  be  a  snake  with  a  conscience 
must  be  horrible.  So  while  my  words  were  harsh 
I  spoke  only  in  pity  to  rescue  this  poor  creature  from 
herself. 

"Your  eyes."  I  said,  "are  a  brace  of  harlots  mak- 
mg  wanton  love  to  every  man  in  sight.  Your  lips 
have  no  restraint  while  your  tongue  flatters  and  you 
make  your  sacred  beauty  a  thing  of  hell.  You  fool 
men  with  sham  tears,  sham  smiles,  sham  sentiments 
sham  emotions-playing  the  game  of  life  with 
marked  cards,  cogged  dice-^  shark  at  getting,  only 
a  miser  at  giving." 

"Oh,  I  don'tl"  She  stood  up  to  face  me  again 
"I  never!  I—"  * 

"Virtuous  woman,  eh?    Why,  Marjr  Magdalen 
and  all  her  poor  little  sisters  will  keep  house  in 
Heaven  before  you've  finished  being  grilled  in  hell." 
Oh,  pity  me,"  she  moaned,  "have  mercy!" 


fij 


172  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"The  pity  you  gave  Joe,  who  escaped  you  in 
death  ?  The  pity  you  show  poor  Sarde  who  can't  es- 
cape? I'm  fighting  Sarde  to  get  him  cashiered  be- 
fore he  has  me  expelled,  but  yet  I'm  sorry  for  him. 
At  worst,  he's  a  Canadian,  one  of  the  finest,  man- 
liest race  on  earth.  Go,  make  yourself  worthy  to 
have  a  husband,  and  don't  stay  whining  here." 

"I  daren't.    He  beats  me!" 

"And  you've  richly  deserved  it,  eh  ?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  weak,  wan  little  smile.  "Oh, 
yes." 

"You  won't  be  flogged  unless  you  earn  it,  eh?" 

"N-no." 

"Run  away  back  to  your  quarters.  Grasp  life 
and  its  thorns  turn  soft." 

"I  daren't.    Oh,  save  me,  Jose." 

Without  a  rag  of  self-respect  she  flung  her  arms 
round  my  knees.  As  to  her  sobbing,  it  sounded 
almost  real. 

"So,"  I  asked  her  gently,  "you  don't  a  bit  mind 
wrecking  another  life?" 

"I'd  do  anything  if  you  told  me.  I'll  be  good, 
always." 

"All  right,"  said  L  "Sarde  found  you  in  my 
arms,  and  that's  my  fault.    I'll  pay.    Come  on — 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  173 

get  up."  I  lifted  her  to  her  feet.    "I'll  break  up  this 

marriage  for  you,  and  when  you're  free " 

"Oh,  you're  so  good  1"  She  was  shamming  again 
"So  noble  1" 

"Now,  don't  trot  out  your  mock  heroics.  You'rs 
not  a  serial  heroine  by  instalments.  Come  on.  Since 
I've  got  to  pay  the  price  I  may  as  well  havt  the  fun." 
I  kissed  her.  "There,  now  you  may  kiss  ;iie.  Kiss 
hard.    It  won't  last  long." 

There  were  dropping  shots  from  snipers  m  the 
hills;  the  hum  of  rapid  business  the  fort  grew 
to  a  tumult ;  the  sentries  called  f  r-.     ^st  to  post  : 

Number  one:  All's  welll 

Number  two :  All's  well  I 

Number  three:  All's  well! 
Then  from  a  greater  distance : 

Number  four:  All's  welll 
And,  faint  as  a  little  echo,  far  away: 
All's  weUl 

And  silence  is  the  rhetoric  of  lovers.  Why  should 
it  matter?  What  difference  could  it  make?  Why 
should  the  innocent  passions  of  good  beasts  be  in- 
terdict for  men  ? 


I 


].. 


174  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

The  women  were  being  loaded  into  their  special 
sleighs  when  Sarde  first  missed  his  wife.  With 
growing  anxiety  he  visited  every  place  where  she 
could  be,  asked  questions  and  heard  rough  laughter 
the  moment  his  back  was  turned.  He  found  that 
Mrs.  Sarde  had  crossed  toward  the  gate-house  at 
nine  o'clock,  carrying  a  large  bundle.  He  failed 
to  notice  a  bright  and  growing  light  which  flickered 
in  the  surgery  window  above  the  guard-room;  but 
pressed  on  through  the  covered  way,  and  asked  im- 
patient questions  of  the  sentry  who  answered  him 
in  gibberish  about  a  waggy,  a  mutt  and  a  whiffle- 
swoggle.  Yes,  Mrs.  Sarde  had  passed  hours  ago 
with  a  bundle  and  a  gold-topped  um'^rella,  turning 
off  sharply  tc  the  left. 

So  for  the  second  time  poor  Sarde  found  his 
pretty  mistress  in  my  ^rms.  He  stood  beside  us 
unnoticed  and  there  was  a  quivering  agony  of  shame 
in  his  first  words,  "Oh,  don't  mind  me." 

We  leaped  apart.  The  woman  nipped  round  the 
comer  screaming.  The  po«rerful  impulse  of  a  sol- 
dier's self-respect  compelled  me  to  stand  to  atten- 
tion, forced  me  to  salute  that  long  thin  fool,  poor 
Sarde. 

"You?"  he  said  in  a  husky  whisper,  "Youl" 

"That's  me." 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  175 

"Give  me  the 'Sir',  cor    and  you  1" 

"Why,  dammit,  I  ne.  /  didl"  The  impulse  to 
obey  was  almost  overwhelming,  yet  only  by  press- 
ing a  quarrel  could  I  .compel  him  to  release  the 
woman. 

"Prisoner:  right  turn— quick  march— get  to  the 
guard-room — or — or — " 

"Or  what?"  He  had  threatened.  He  had  ceased 
to  be  an  officer,  to  claim  respect  for  his  rank.  He 
was  only  the  peasant  with  the  grotesque  dull  rage 
of  a  mere  lout.  I  laughed.  "Or  what?  Eh,  bump- 
kin?" 

This  was  mutiny,  and  Sarde  lifted  his  whistle  to 
blow  a  call  for  help.  I  snatched  the  whistle,  blew 
the  call  myself.  They  seemed  to  have  a  bonfire  in 
the  fort,  quite  a  big  one,  too,  and  so  much  clamor 
that  nobody  heard  the  call.  I  watched  Sarde's  slug- 
gish northern  way  of  reaching  for  his  revolver,  fum- 
bling at  the  holster  flap,  and  lugging  out  the  gun. 
The  Anglo-Saxon  peasantry  are  so  slowl 

With  one  flash  I  had  him  covered. 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  I.  "Hands  up,  hands  up, 
my  fool.  That's  right.  Now  be  good."  I  pitched 
his  whistle  over  the  stockade,  then  wrenched  his 
gun  from  the  lanyard  until  the  shackle  parted.  With 
both  guns  I  jumped  back,  bidding  him  drop  his 


^il 


•    II:  i 


I      ■■      ! 


176  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

hands  and  stand  easy  for  a  nice,  cozy  little  chat. 
"There  are  no  witnesses,"  I  had  to  reassure  him,  "so 
you  see  we're  man  to  man." 

"Until — "  Sarde's  voice  was  full  of  menace,  for 
that  sort  of  animal  is  never  more  than  half  tamed 
at  the  best. 

"Until,"  said  I,  "you  bring  a  tharge,  and  I  call 
Miss  Burrov's  for  my  first  witness." 

"Then  sine,  we're  man'  to  man,"  he  shouted — 
they  always  have  to  shout — "what  were  you  doing 
with  my  wife?" 

"Pooh !  She's  not  your  wife." 

"You  dare—" 

"Stand  back,  Sarde.  I  don't  like  your  perfume. 
No,  the  question,  my  good  man,  is  whether  you 
loose  this  woman — " 

"Because — you — " 

A  little  sound  caught  my  ear  from  round  the  cor- 
ner, and  at  first  I  whistled  Three  Blind  Mice  lest 
Sarde  should  hear  it.  But  that  seemed  unfair.  For 
a  moment  I  had  to  think,  scratching  my  head  with 
Sarde's  gun.  Then  I  jammed  it  into  my  belt,  bol- 
stered my  ov/n  revolver  and  picked  up  the  ax. 

"Look  here,  Sarde,"  I  had  to  explain,  "it's  deuced 
awkward,  but  I  heard  your — ^ahem — ^good  lady  lis- 
tening round  the  comer.    I  didn't  mean  to  give  you 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  177 

away,  old  chap.  Excuse  my  country  manners.  You 
see  she's  found  out  she's  not  your  wife.  She'll  in- 
terfere now;  she'll  spoil  our  fight.  Suppose  we 
move,  eh?  We'll  go  to  the  back  of  the  fort.  Come 
on.  you've  got  to.  By  your  left,  quick  march— left 
—left— left,  right,  left— and  if  you  hail  the  bastion, 
I'll  drop  you  I  Left-left— you  need  a  setting  up 
drill,  Sarde.  Left,  turn.  I  know  you  don't  want  to 
come,  so  you  needn't  explain.  Left— left— left, 
right,  left.  There.  Haiti  About  turn!  Stand  at 
— ease.    Stand  easy." 

I  set  the  ax  down  against  the  curtain  wall,  think- 
ing, I  remember,  that  it  must  be  a  deuced  big  bon- 
fire they  were  having  inside  the  fort.  The  sniping 
was  a  nuisance  here  at  the  back,  and  one  bullet 
splashed  between  us.  Poor  Sarde  was  convinced, 
I  suppose,  that  a  dangerous  lunatic  had  best  be  hu- 
mored.   He  was  getting  patient,  too.  ' 

"I  guess,"  he  remarked  quite  aflfably,  "you  mean 
to  murder  me,  eh? ' 

"Certainly  not.  Don't  be  silly.  Will  you  release 
this  woman  ?     Yes  or  no  ?" 

He  wanted  to  argue  the  point,  to  keep  me  in  argu- 
ment until  somebody  came  to  his  rescue.  He  had  to 
be  roused  from  such  dreams  pronto. 

"All  right,"  said  I,  "you  needn't  get  excited.  You 


•1 


rl 


178  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

see  I  dislike  you,  Sarde.  I  take  exception  to  the 
shape  of  your  feet,  you  mule-foaled  outrage  on  na- 
ture's modesty;  you  bandy-legged,  stridulating, 
peevish,  pop-eyed  anachronism;  you  supercilious, 
illegitimate,  high-bounding,  beef-faced,  misdirected, 
spatch-cocked  swab  of  erring  parents  I  You  don't 
seem  really  to  understand  me  even  now.  Let  me 
explain." 

I  whipped  one  of  my  mitts  gently,  swiftly  across 
his  stupid  face,  and  stood  back  to  see  how  he  liked 
it.  I  certainly  had  done  my  best  for  him,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  clench  his  teeth  to  steady  his  rasping 
voice,  hissing  staccato : 

"The  reckoning  is  not  to-night!" 

"Bad  form,  Sarde.  Melodrama.  You  mean  well 
but  you're  rotten  in  the  part.  You  should  say,  'The 
r-r-reckoning  is  to-night  I  Hal  Hal'  That's  how 
the  villain  talks.  If  you  live,  you  can  blame  the 
rebels,  and  say  the  snipers  got  me,  see?  We  have 
our  revolvers,  and  so — "  What  more  could  he 
want? 

"Constable,"  he  played  up  another  excuse.  "I 
hold  Her  Majesty's  commission.  .You  forget  your- 
self." 

"Ah  I  Let  us  be  calm.  Jos6  Maria  Sebastian  Sant 
lago  de  la  Mancha  y  O'Brien  consents  to  waive  the 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,79 

difference  of  rank."  I  raise-  my  hat  and  bowed. 
"Come,  Sarde,  we  knSw  that  you're  a  coward  and 
dueling  is  forbidden  and  all  that,  but  never  mind. 
For  once  you  shall  behave  exactly  like  a  man.  Brace 
upl"  I  struck  him  hard  and  harder  across  the  face. 
"You— really— must— understand.  At  fifteen  paces 
we  turn,  and  as  I  give  the  word  we  fire,  and  keep 
on  firing.  No?  Now  don't  disappoint  me.  please, 
I  beg  you.  Have  you  no  inside  ?  Are  you  an  empty 
pretense?  Nombre  de  DiosI  What  have  you  done 
with  your  manhood?" 

"I've  told  you  already  that  officers  can't  possibly 
fight  with—" 

"With  me.  senor?  Haven't  I  explained?  The 
Marquis  de  las  Alpuxarras  consents  to  waive  the 
difference  of  rank,  and  meet  a  peasant.  You  scram- 
bled skunk,  take  your  gun  I  I  insist.  I  command! 
Now  you're  armed,  and  at  the  word  I  shoot  I  step 
back  ten  paces  and  at  the  word  three,  I  fire.  One  I 
Two!—" 

Sangre  de  Crista!  The  beastly  cad  fired  at  "Two," 
and  there  was  I  clutching  a  burning  pain  in  my  gun 
arm  above  the  elbow. 

nVhat  the  devil  do  you  mean,"  I  asked  him,  "by 
firing  before  I  gave  the  word,  eh?  I'll  mack  your 
beastly  head  1" 


i: 


i8o  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

He  fired  twice  more  while  I  rushed  him.  Then, 
with  a  swinging  left-hander,  I  got  the  point  of  his 
chin,  and  he  went  down. 

A  gentleman  must  always  think  for  others  before 
he  thinks  for  himself,  but  Sarde  being  attended  to, 
I  had  time  to  look  around. 


Sergeant-Ma j  or  Dann  had  been  first  to  see  that 
glare  in  the  surgery  window,  and  Buckie  reminded 
him  of  the  hay  left  round  the  stove-pipe.  At  the 
head  of  the  hospital  stairs  they  found  Baugh,  the 
heroic  orderly,  fighting  the  flames  with  a  sack  and 
getting  badly  burned.  The  sergeant-major  picked 
up  Sergeant  Gilchrist  and  ran  with  him  down-stairs. 
Chatter  McNabb  jeered  at  Buckie's  attempt  to  do  as 
much  for  him,  and  shot  as  he  was  through  the 
lungs,  made  his  own  way  out  of  the  building.  Buckie 
found  the  hospital  orderly  with  his  face  apparently 
burned  off,  in  the  act  of  falling  among  the  flames. 
He  dragged  Baugh  down  the  stairs. 

The  bugle  was  crying  the  terrible  monotone  of 
the  "General  assembly."  But  while  the  work  of  res- 
cue blocked  the  stairway,  the  fire  leaped  from  room 
to  room,  and  before  the  brigade  could  form  for  or- 
ganized work  the  whole  gate-house  was  in  flames. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  ,8i 

barring  the  only  exit  from  the  fort.  The  conflagra- 
tion was  spreading  through  old  dry  wooden  build- 
ings  and  the  garrison  was  trapped  beyond  aU  hope 
of  escape. 

Through  cracks  in  the  palisade  I  could  see  the 
impending  death  of  the  whole  garrison,  but  I  wfs 
crazy  with  pain  and  rapidly  losing  strength,  while 
every  stroke  I  clove  with  the  ax  nr  e  me  scream 
with  agony.  Then  in  a  sudden  ragt  with  Sarde.  I 
turned  round  and  kicked  him. 

"Who  told  you  to  lie  down,  you  dirty  dog?  G«  • 
up  I  Don't  you  see  the  damned  fort's  on  fire?  An^I 
you.  a  Canuck  with  an  ax,  letting  the  outfit  bum 
to  death  I  Get  up  I" 

He  scrambled  up.  dazed,  leaning  against  the  wall, 
and  peered  stupidly  through  a  slit  while  I  kicked 
him  savagely  from  behind.  What  was  the  good  of 
moccasins?  I  needed  boots  I 

"Get  to  it."  I  howled,  "you  blithering  disgrace, 
and  I'll  forgive  you  for  shooting  me.  you  cad,  and 
let  you  off  the  charge  of  cowardice.  Strike,  you 
whelp  of  sin!  Strike,  and  I'll  let  you  stay  in  the 
force,  my  bleeding  hero.  Harder!  Harder!  Sick 
'imi    Bite 'im!    Tear 'im  and  eat 'imi" 


n . 


'■  ■I'l 


1 1 

i'i> 

1- 

V 

1 

182  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

In  Canadian  hands  the  quivering  haft  and  gleam- 
ing blade  of  an  ax  ring  out  wild  music  to  its  whirl, 
its  bite,  its  rending  and  swirl  of  splinters. 

"Go  it,  you  cripple !"  I  yelled.  Then  from  within 
I  heard  the  quick  live  clamor  of  a  second  ax  and 
a  third. 

The  fire,  with  gathering  strength  at  frightful 
speed,  now  roared  along  the  buildings  round  the 
square,  flames  leaping  high  through  crashing  roofs 
to  light  the  jammed  confusion  of  sleighs  and  rearing 
horses,  while  the  whole  mass  were  driven  scorched 
against  this  northern  wall.  But  the  call  of  Sarde's 
ax  had  roused  the  whole  of  our  ax-men  to  help, 
hewing  a  gap  through  the  wall;  its  tall  posts  reeled 
and  fell  one  by  one,  the  breach  was  widening,  at 
last  there  was  room,  and  the  sleighs  began  to  file 
past  me.  I  had  swooned  by  that  time  with  the  loss 
of  blood,  but  somebody  with  a  handkerchief  and  a 
gun  made  a  rough  tourniquet,  which  stopped  the 
spurting  blood  until  Doctor  Miller  came.  They  put 
me  into  the  last  sleigh  as  it  left  the  abandoned  fort. 

As  we  slowed  down  to  climb  the  Prince  Albert 
hill,  I  looked  back  at  that  red  splendor  which  had 
been  Fort  Carlton.  Across  the  meadow,  on  snow 
that  glowed  like  blood,  some  one  was  running,  a 
woman  who  lugged  a  bundle  and  brandished  an  um- 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  183 

brdla  while  her  big  bustle  wagged  from  side  to 
side.  The  sleigh  was  stopped  and  Mrs.  Sarde 
climbed  in. 

So  the  long  night  retreat  began,  and  as  we  gained 
the  rim  of  the  plains,  wr  saw  the  first  vedettes  of 
the  astounded  rebels  commence  their  swoop  for 
plunder  on  what  was  left  of  Carlton.  Thus  ended 
the  busiest  hour  in  my  life,  for  trouble  rains  on 
those  already  wet. 


i : ; 


w 

At  dusk  on  the  eve  of  Palm  Sunday  our  sleighs 
drew  into  Prince  Albert.  For  three  days  and  three 
nights  our  people  had  not  slept,  but  there  was  stiU 
no  rest  because  a  first-class  panic  broke  out  among 
the  settlers  at  the  fort  of  refuge.  The  doctor  had 
to  find  some  sort  of  shelter  for  the  wounded  men, 
and  the  only  place  free  from  slush  within  the  Prince 
Albert  stockade  consisted  of  a  stack  of  up-edged 
planks.  He  laid  us  there,  and  dressed  our  wounds 
while  the  panic  raged  all  round  us  with  deafening 
iQlamor  of  screaming  men,  sobbing  women,  children 
in  hysterics,  a  hammering  which  they  mistook  for 
musketry,  and  the  alarms  of  the  church  bell  over- 
head. 


Ill 


f.  H 


i84  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


My  turn  came  last,  for  Sarde  had  given  me  only 
a  trifling  flesh  wound  through  the  upper  arm.  "Is 
it  hurting?"  asked  Doctor  Miller. 

It  was. 

"That's  heahhy  granulation,"  said  he.  "Does  you 
good.  Serves  you  right.  I'm  going  to  sit  with  you 
and  have  a  pipe,  or  else  I'll  be  asleep  in  another 
minute.    Got  a  match  ?" 

His  face  was  long,  lean,  whimsical,  his  speech  a 
gentle  drawl  aching  with  himior.  All  of  us  loved 
him  and  the  memory  of  that  unhappy  gentleman 
shines  down  the  years  just  like  a  ray  of  light. 

"And  now,  my  boy,"  said  he,  stufiing  his  clinical 
thermometer  under  my  tongue,  "I'm  going  to  feel 
your  conscience,  if  you've  got  one." 

He  had  me  gagged  with  that  infernal  instrument. 

"Inspector  Sarde,"  said  he,  "rode  with  me  a-ways 
on  the  trail  confessing  all  your  sins.  You  don't 
seem  to  get  on  with  my  brother  officer  to  any 
great  extent.  Wall,  sonny,  you've  both  got  a  tem- 
perature and  you've  both  got  clinical  thermometers 
in  your  mouths  to  allay  the  heat  Nothing  like  a 
thermometer  for  a  hot  patient.  The  day  a  soldier 
marries,  seems  to  me,  he  hangs  up  all  his  weapons, 
and  swaps  a  little  drill  for  bloody  war.    You're 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR 


i8s 


in  jolly  good  luck  it  wasn't  you  she  married.  You 
ought  to  be  sorry  for  Mr.  Sarde,  not  hit  him  be- 
cause he's  down." 

I  nodded. 

"Quite  so.  But  he  keeps  his  temper  and  every- 
thing else  he  gets.  You  give  yourself  and  all  you've 
got,  away.  I  like  a  fool,  too.  But  why  bring  a 
false  charge  of  cowardice?" 

I  took  the  thermometer  out  of  my  mouth  to  say 
I  withdrew  the  charge.  He  clapped  it  back  again 
and  told  me  to  shut  up. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  "that  it's  your  solemn 
duty  as  a  buck  policeman  to  interfere  between  your 
superior  officer — and  the  devil  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"And  why  wear  mocc^si.is  when  you  kick  an 
officer?    Need  boots." 

My  toes  were  still  hurting. 

"Mr.  Sarde  was  hurt,"  said  the  doctor.  "I 
should  feel  hurt  if  you  kicked  me.  That's  only 
•  natural.  I'd  shoot  you,  too,  or  operate — which  is 
much  the  same  thing.  You  see,  my  dear  boy,  even 
the  commissioner  might  object  to  having  his  troop- 
ers kicking  his  officers,  and  his  officers  shooting 
his  troopers  when  both  should  be  shooting  rebels. 


i86  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

If  he  finds  out,  he'll  kick  Mr.  Sarde  out  of  the  force, 
and  have  you  shot  for  mutiny.  Serve  you  both 
dam'  well  right. 

"I  don't  mind  that  at  all,  but  what  if  these  bally 
civilians  get  to  know  too  much?  Scandals  in  our 
outfit— there's  the  rub.  Scandals  in  our  outfit  1 
Won't  do.  The  civvies  will  get  too  happy.  It  isn't 
good  for  'em.  They  oughth't  to  be  encouraged.  Just 
look  at  them,  screeching  with  fright,  as  if  there 
were  no  hereafter.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  howling 
disgrace  to  the  whites!" 

"Let's  see,"  he  whipped  the  thermometer  out  of 
my  mouth,  "I  guess  you've  been  pinked  by  a  rebel 
sniper,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir.    Shot  by  a  rebel." 

"And  Mr.  Sarde  is  a  good  officer?" 

"Hero  of  Carlton  I" 

"And  at  Duck  Lake  fight  you  misunderstood  Mr. 
Sarde's  order  to  turn  back  after  wounded  men,  en?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"So  long  as  you're  left  alone  you  don't  bring 
any  charges,  and  so  long  as  you  behave  he  brings 
no  charges,  eh?" 

"Please  tell  him,  sir,  that  I  thinK  he's  a  disgrace 
to  the  force,  and  I'll  get  him  pitched  out  if  I  can. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  187 

But  it  won't  be  by  any  dirty  trick  or  by  giving  the 
outfit  away." 
"What  makes  you  hate  him.  lad?" 
"Instinct.    He's  poison." 
"Why?" 

"Well,  sir,  compare  him  with  old  Sorrel  Top,  or 
Paddy,  or  the   great   Sam   himself,   or  dear   old 
Wormy,  or  young  Perry,  or  dammit,  even  Paper 
Collar  Johnny." 
"Canadians  aU.     Mr.  Sarde  is  Canadian,  too." 
"The  others  are  gentlemen.    A  cad  with  a  com- 
mission is  an  outrage.    He  means  well,  but  he  doesn't 
set  me  a  good  example,  sir;  he's  bad  for  my  morals; 
he  makes  me  peevish.    What  have  I  done  that  this 
bounder  should  come  to  reign  over  me?" 

The  dear  man  held  up  his  thermometer  as  a 
threat 

"When  the  patient,"  he  chuckled,  "gets  full  of  re- 
partee, poor  charity  takes  wings.  I'm  off  to  torture 
a  wounded  volunteer,  and  after  me  comes  the  par- 
son. Beware  of  doctors,  Blackguard."  He  gave 
me  my  pet  name ! 

Next  day  the  wounded  were  moved  to  Miss  Ba- 
ker's house— to  be  haunted  by  an  angel.  I  used  to 
nip  out  of  bed  and  help  her  while  she  threatened 


f   i 


i88  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


to  turn  me  into  the  horse  corral.  To  that  house 
came  Mrs.  Sarde  secretly,  with  a  pudding.  I  like 
chocolate  shapes.  She  threatened  widowhood  and 
overdressed  the  part.  She  told  me  in  stage  whis- 
pers how  she  had  crawled  and  crouched  behind 
the  comer  of  the  stockade  at  Carlton,  with  creepy 
gestures  in  the  shuddering  gloom,  to  hear  me  read- 
ing the  gospel  to  poor  Sarcte.  She  made  me  tell  her 
all  I  had  heard,  and  more,  about  Happy  Bill,  the 
converted  railroad  stoker,  how  he  wasn't  exactly 
a  parson,  and  his  monkey  business  not  precisely 
a  marriage.  Oh,  she  was  great  as  the  outraged 
wife,  betrayed  but  calm,  trapped  in  a  bogus  mar- 
riage, but  chock-full  of  respectability,  a  helpless 
prey.  Fact  is,  the  woman  was  having  the  time  of 
her  life,  reeking  adventure  like  a  bom  adventuress. 
She  clawed  the  air,  she  capsized  my  pudding,  she 
spouted  melodrama  drivel  about  her  marriage  lines 
and  bloody  doom.  This  way  lies  madness !  Gimme 
the  dagger  I  She  had  a  fat  part  to  play  in  real  melo- 
drama, pleased  all  to  pieces,  having  paroxysms  of 
rage  and  grief,  with  one  eye  cocked  at  my  shav- 
ing glass.  Then  she  was  washed  away  iil  floods 
of  tears,  while  I  taught  her  how  to  do  coyote  howls, 
until  at  last  she  looked  up  with  a  grin  as  if  to  say, 
"How's  that,  umpire?" 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  WAR  189 

Only  he  is  fortunate  with  women  of  whom  they 
take  no  notice.    I  was  not  fortunate.    They  always 
noticed  me,  to  my  undoing.    Of  course,  they  made 
me  pay,  at  every  gate,  their  toll  of  kisses  on  the 
hell  road.    Here  was  the  puss  complete  who,  when 
I  called  her  a  shammy  little  liar,  avowed  me  to 
be  the  only  man  who  really  understood.    Because 
I  denied  her  I  was  the  only  man  she  ever  wanted. 
She  knew  that  I  liked  pussies,  that  no  puss  could  be 
too  fluffy— and  let  me  see  her  at  her  fluffiest.    She 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  Sarde  that  she  might  marry 
me.    I  told  her  kittens  were  all  very  well  to  play 
with,  but  not  much  use  to  keep,  because  they  always 
degenerated  into  cats.     My  ears  should  select  my 
woman,  not  my  eyes. 

Oh,  she  was  very  fair,  and  most  alluring,  catch- 
mg  at  my  senses,  tearing  at  my  heart— a  foul  temp- 
tation to  my  body.  And  I  was  twenty-one  years 
young  in  those  days.  I  took  her  by  the  shoulders 
from  behind,  kissed  her  upon  the  neck— a  much 
less  tempting  place  than  the  lips  I  craved  for— and 
bundled  her  out  of  the  house  to  sulk  in  the  horse 
corral  while  I  devoured  her  pudding. 

It  was  after  the  war  was  over,  some  time  about 
September,  that  the  Sardes  were  transferred  again 
to  Fort  Qu'Appelle.     And  there  the  woman  went 


190  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


stalking  for  Happy  Bill.  She  thought  herself  no 
end  of  a  scout  when  she  found  him.  Then  she  paid 
five  dollars  to  be  told  by  a  real  live  lawyer  in  his 
legal  jargon  that  she  was  not  a  married  lady.  Her 
next  act  was  to  write  a  declaration  of  her  woes  and 
"pin  it  to  Sarde's  bosom  with  a  dagger" — which 
means,  I  suppose,  that  she  left  a  letter  for  him  on 
the  dressing-table  before  she  robbed  his  cash-box, 
and  streaked  off  home  to  uncle.  She  used  to  write 
me  most  inviting  letters. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  WUMPS 

'pHIS  job  of  writing  ptazles  me.  I  am  like  a 
X  merchant  selling  a  pearl  necklace :  wiU  you  have 
my  string  or  my  pearls?  My  threadbare  story  is 
that  of  an  obscure  man,  but  illustrates  a  theme 
worthy  of  your  attention.  That  is  why  I  wumble 
most  confusedly. 

To  make  each  chapter  a  coherent  story,  I  have 
copied  the  great  musical  composers.  They  write 
a  series  of  "movements,"  or  moods  of  mental  con- 
fusion to  form  a  "symphony"  or  aU-round  muddle 
So  do  I.  The  result  should  appeal  to  all  men,  but 
there  is  so  much  immoral  wisdom  in  every  woman 
that  I  doubt  if  one  of  them  will  read  my  book. 

Now  I  am  coming  to  a  chapter  which  will  not 
stand  symphonic  treatment.  It  is  a  sort  of  footling 
mtermezzo,  and  the  best  way  to  handle  it  is  that  of 
the  songs  without  words.  We  will  have  a  series  of 
wumps,  or  songs  without  music. 
191 


193  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


The  Blackguard' f  Wump 

The  Alpuxarras  appear  to  have  worried  along 
without  me  as  their  marquis.  The  angels  never 
seemed  inclined  to  pay  for  my  board  as  their  mis- 
sionary. The  devil  had  not  commissioned  me  as 
his  real-estate  agent,  or  any  other  business  man  en- 
gaged me  for  useful  work!  The  police  outfit  was 
considered  a  last  refuge  for  the  destitute,  but  even 
in  that  I  was  not  offered  so  much  as  a  lance-cor- 
poral's chevron.  Nobody  would  ever  take  me  seri- 
ously. 

One  cf  our  teamsters  who  spoke  ancient  Greek 
like  a  native  said  I  was  "the  dead  spit  of  Pan"; 
Buckie,  to  whom  the  proprieties,  deportment  and 
the  conventions  were  all  one  God,  averred  me  to  be 
sub-human,  a  faun  if  only  I  could  learn  to  behave 
half  decently.  I  was  anything  but  a  gentleman, 
having,  I  remember,  oiled  his  hair  with  birdlime 
while  he  slept,  so  that  on  waking  he  could  not  tear 
himself  from  the  pillow.  As  to  the  other  fellow, 
observing  that  I  was  lean,  swart,  weathered  and 
grotesque,  they  urged  me  to  pawn  my  face.  Call 
even  a  dog  by  such  a  name  as  Blackguard,  and  you 
might  as  well  hang  him. 

Even  in  those  days  I  knew  that  I  did  not  belong 


THE  WUMPS  ,93 

to  the  civilized  world  at  all,  and  that  only  half  of 
me  was  serving  in  the  mounted  poI  e.  That  was 
the  half  of  me  which  craved  for  the  Burrows 
woman,  and  cut  her  adrift  from  Sarde  without  any 
intention  of  taking  her  for  myself.  Indeed,  it  wu 
not  that  particular  minx  I  cared  for,  but  rather 
an  impulse  to  chase  anything  in  skirts.  Low  caste 
women  always  hunted  me  because  I  was  the  troop 
jester,  the  comedian,  quick,  vital,  joyous,  of  bril- 
liant moods,  and  blood  red-hot  with  life. 

Nobody  knew  the  other  half  of  me-the  immortal 
part  which  worshiped  the  memory  of  Rain,  the 
sacred  woman  of  the  Blackfeet,  with  a  laiiting 
growing  spiritual  homage ;  the  spirit  in  me  which  for 
my  mother's  honor  and  Our  Lady's  glory  defende-1 
women  in  the  duels  with  Tail-Feathers  and  the  long 
feud  with  Sarde.    God  made  me  a  patrician  pledged 
to  chivalric  service,  wholly  estranged  from  all  ma- 
terial interest,  from  the  ambitions  of  civilized  men. 
I  was  beginning  to  weary  of  the  noise  in  camp 
and  barracks,  yearning  even  then  at  times  for  the 
ren:nte  hills,  the  uttermost  solitudes.    There  were 
moments  on  lone  patrols  when  I  could  sense  the 
presence  of  shy  immortal  creatures,  kin  of  forgotten 
gods.    I  kept  silence  lest  I  disturb  sweet  April  water- 
ing her  buds,  or  May  as  she  tended  her  flowers. 


^'ti 


IM 


194  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

or  June,  setting  immort  1  seeds  in  holy  ground, 
while  the  big  wind  goc  >  tumbled  their  clouds 
through  the  celestial  heights  to  bring  fresh  rains 
for  Eden.  To  me  already  the  days  were  notes,  the 
months  were  chords,  the  years  were  phrases  of  one 
brave  melody  sung  by  flying  earth  as  she  cleft 
the  deeps  of  space,  a  singer  in  the  choir  of  the 
spheres  whose  adoration  fills  eternity.  I  knew  that 
I  was  a  very  little  spirit  which  must  be  kept  in  tune, 
free  from  impurities. 


The  Regimental  Wump 

Tliat  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding  g^s 
up  from  the  pUins  forever,  filling  the  wide  grass 
lands  and  the  skies  above.  Because  it  passeth  un- 
derstanding it  escapes  the  attention  of  the  police  re- 
tained in  its  service. 

The  summer  cured  our  crisp  grass  into  gold  un- 
der a  dome  of  azure,  and  across  this  floor  of  heaven 
groups  of  profane  small  creatures  rorle  in  important 
errands,  bursting  with  an  infinitesimal  rage,  ex- 
ploding when  they  met  with  sudden  cracklings  of 
battle,  one  party  following  the  other  to  various 
ambuscades  and  places  of  starvation  within  the  shod- 
ows  of  the  northern  forest.    Like  bees  and  ants  they 


THE  WUMPS 


195 


•eemed  to  have  dim  instincts,  working  upon  some 
ordered  plan  of  mutual  destruction.  And  I  was  one 
of  these. 

We  fought,  we  bickered  through  long  delays, 
and  fought  again.  A  little  Canadian  army  came 
very  late,  helped  us  most  gallantly,  sowed  their  dead, 
•nd  went  off  home  in  triumph.  We  rode,  we  starv- 
ed, we  stamped  out  the  last  embers  of  revolt,  hang- 
ed Riel  the  dreamer  and  tidied  up  the  littered  set- 
tlements. We  settled  back  again  to  our  routine  of 
active  service  as  officers  of  the  peace.  We  saw  the 
Canadian  Pacific  rails  run  clear  from  sea  to  sea,  we 
heard  the  Canadian  colonies  awaken  to  find  theu;- 
selves  a  nation,  we  watched  history  casur.g  her  long 
shadows  into  the  future. 

We  liders  of  the  plains  were  as  God  made  us, 
and  oftentimes  even  worse.  For  a  regiment  is  a 
thousand  times  more  human  than  a  man  in  child- 
hood and  in  growth,  in  overstrain  of  war,  and 
maladies  of  reaction,  in  pride  of  strength  and  lan- 
guor of  decay.  Our  regiment  was  more  human 
than  most,  tremendously  alive,  enraged  with  the 
late  rebellion  as  a  breach  of  our  great  discipline  of 
the  peace,  and  frantic  at  the  loss  of  our  leaders, 
Sorrel  Top  and  Paddy.  We  had  a  fit  of  nerves, 
with  serio-comic  mutinies,  typhoid  and  an  epidemic 


196  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

and  desertion.  Then  came  Larry,  the  new  commis- 
sioner, a  mere  civilian  to  reign  over  us,  who  ex- 
pelled our  old  hands  if  tliey  dared  so  much  as  spit 
sidewise.  And  we  were  swamped  under  a  heap  of 
rookies— a  sort  of  dirty  animal,  void  of  manners  or 
morals. 

The  regiment  was  still  painfully  young,  fighting 
the  tyrant  Larry,  who  was 'destined  to  be  our  best 
friend,  and  even  to  inherit  the  dear  title  of  Sorrel 
Top.  His  godless  rookies  grew  into  the  men  who 
finally  tamed  the  plains  for  settlement,  the  leaders 
in  the  conquest  of  the  North,  the  officers  of  superb 
Canadian  regiments  in  South  Africa,  with  a  deal 
more  to  be  proud  of  than  mere  millionaires. 

The  floor  of  Heaven  was  of  gold  in  autumn,  like 
unto  fine  glass  in  winter,  and  paved  with  starry 
flowtrs  in  spring.  Where  our  horses  trampled  there 
is  peace,  where  we  lay  down  to  rest  there  grows 
the  golden  wheat,  and  where  we  sowed  our  dead  a 
nation  lives. 

Buckie's  Wump 

In  the  fall  of  '86  our  camp  was  at  the  breezy 
edge  of  the  plains  overlooking  the  ford  of  Battle 
River.  Out  on  the  flat  beyond  was  pestilence-rid- 
den Battleford,  where  D  Troop  was  down  with  ty 


THE  WUMPS 


197 


phoid,  losing  a  man  a  day.  Our  F  Troop  detach- 
ment had  come  from  Prince  Albert  to  take  over  the 
D  Troop  patrols.  Our  men  were  away  close-herd- 
ing the  beaten  sullen  tribes  of  the  Cree  nation,  and 
helping  the  bumed-out  settlers.  I  was  in  charge 
of  the  two  or  three  men  left  behind  in  camp,  and  we 
had  orders  not  to  go  near  stricken  Battle  ford.  We 
sat  in  camp  and  watched  the  funerals. 

At  stmrise  and  at  sunset  we  rode  and  led  our 
horses  down  to  the  ford  for  water  and  those  big 
four-footed  babies  had  us  bareback,  so  there  was 
lots  of  fun.  One  morning  young  Hairy,  on  leaving 
the  water,  walked  under  the  *  srry  cable,  which  scrap- 
ed me  off  his  back  into  a  pool  of  dust.  Then  he 
turned  round  to  grin  and  while  I  was  reproaching 
him  with  my  quirt,  there  came  from  across  the 
river  sounds  of  lamentation.  There  was  Buckie,  oh, 
yes,  Corporal  Buckie,  if  you  please,  of  D  Troop,  in 
his  Sunday  best,  while  Rich  Mixed,  wet  from  the 
river,  leaped  all  over  him  spoiling  his  pretty  clothes. 
With  his  forage  cap  poised  on  three  hairs,  his  glow- 
ing scarlet  and  his  gleaming  boots,  Buckie  was  be- 
ing absolutely  ruined  while  he  denounced  my  dog. 

I  rode  across  to  the  rescue,  leading  Mrs.  Bond, 
and  Buckie  made  the  passage  on  her  broad  buttocks. 
Since  goodness  knows  when,  I  had  not  seen  my 


198  THE  CHEERFUU  BLACKGUARD 

chum,  so  we  spent  the  whole  morning  together 
among  the  wild  flowers  up  on  the  hill  near  camp 
between  the  torrid  sun  and  a  jovial  wind.  And 
Buckie  brought  forth  documents — his  little  official 
soul  did  dearly  love  a  docttment — all  lettered,  and 
scheduled  in  a  rubber  ''and.  To  wit,  viz: — 


A.  Ululations  from  Brat,  at  Fort 
French.  Got-Wet  was  haunting  him,  and 
my  little  brother  moaned  for  me  to  keep  him 
out  of  mischief.  But  I  never  answered  let- 
ters. 

B.  Copy.  Confidential  report,  obtained, 
it  seems,  by  art  magic,  from  Inspector  Sarde 
to  the  commissioner  at  regimental  headquar- 
ters. He  had  the  honor  to  submit  that  the 
Blackguard  was  an  undesirable  character, 
and  needed  watching.  He  had  the  honor  to 
be,  sir,  your  obedient  servant. 

C.  Proceedings  of  Buckie.  Took  on  as 
orderly-room  clerk  to  Sam,  superintendent 
commanding  D  Division,  and  the  greatest 
man  on  earth.  Showed  Sam  the  above  men- 
tioned confidential  report,  with  further  evi- 
dences of  a  private  enmity.  Sam  was  furi- 
ous, and  pitched  Buckie  out  of  the  office. 


THE  WUMPS 


«99 


D.  Copy  of  letter  from  Sam  requesting 
commission  to  transfer  Reg.  No.  1107,  Const, 
la  Mancha,  J.  and  Reg.  No.  128,  Const,  la 
.Mancha,  Pedrc  to  D  Division. 

E.  Copy  of  General  Order  No.  12,578,- 
901,  transferring  Brat  and  me  to  Sam's  troop 
from  the  21st  instant. 

F.  Copy  of  General  Orders  transferring 
Wormy's  troop  to  Battleford,  and  Sam's 
own,  D  Division,  to  Fort  French ! 


'I 

f  ki  m 


So  Brat  and  Buckie  and  I  were  to  serve  together 
under  Sam,  the  greatest  of  all  Canadian  soldi<?rs,  at 
Fort  French,  the  happiest  post  on  the  plains,  deliver- 
ed from  Sarde's  malice.  But  when  in  my  impul- 
sive Dago  way,  I  tried  to  kiss  Corporal  Buckie,  he 
ran  and  I  gave  chase  for  a  full  mile.  Then  he  want- 
ed to  fight  I 

A  few  days  later  we  marched  from  Battleford 
upon  a  glorious  ride  of  seven  hundred  miles  across 
the  plains,  a  troop  of  pink  and  white  invalids,  just 
barely  convalescent,  very  limp  in  the  saddle,  rather 
self-conscious  in  full  uniform.  We  swung  in  haugh- 
ty silence  past  the  F  Troop  camp  where  my  late 
comrades  mourned  their  fate  in  old  brown  overalls. 
And  C  Troop  came  ramping  in  from  their  great 


i 


200  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

journey,  lean,  hard,  tanned,  their  eyes  aflash,  grin- 
ning distainfuUy  at  our  troop  of  patients.  They  had 
scarcely  a  trace  of  uniform  among  them,  but  rode 
in  buckskin  shirts  and  cowboy  shaps,  attended  by 
their  herd  of  looted  ponies. 

The  meeting  of  the  three  troops,  in  perfect  silence, 
the  dusty,  windy,  sunny  splendor  of  that  frontier 
pageant,  makes  my  heart  ache  as  I  remember  now. 
The  delight  of  the  eyes  and  the  pride  of  life  are 
gone.  And  where  I  sowed  in  the  sands  I  did  not 
reap  fish. 


CHAPTER  VI 


, 


MY  Brat  had  been  frozen  in  the  spring  of  1884, 
losing  the  toes  of  the  right  foot.  When  I  got 
back  to  Fort  French  in  the  fall  of  1886,  his  wound 
was  still  open,  although  he  wore  boots  and  walked 
without  a  limp.  He  was  on  light  duty  as  orderly- 
room  clerk. 

Even  before  he  joined  the  outfit,  the  boy  had  been 
in  love  with  Got-Wet,  the  ridiculous  half-breed  flirt 
whose  father.  Bad  Mouth,  alias  Shifty  Lane,  was 
trader  at  Writing-on-Stone  beside  Milk  River.  She 
would  have  none  of  the  boy,  yet  would  not  let  him 
go,  and  Brat's  little  heart  was  true.  In  a  land 
where  girls  are  scarce  all  hearts  are  faithful.  By 
secret  means  of  his  own.  Brat  managed  to  keep 
watch  on  that  lone  trading  post  a  hundred  miles  to 
the  eastward.  How  he  kn'  v  was  none  of  my  busi- 
ness, but  my  brother  had  been  kept  informed  through 
the  tedious  catalogue  of  the  girl's  flirtations.  Grain 
by  grain  that  fowl  had  filled  her  crop,  while  Brat 
20c 


«( 


f 


202  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


was  tortured,  haunted  by  dismal  jealousies.  JMd 
jealousy  disclosed  far  more  than  her  wiles  could 
hide. 

Especially  Brat  was  jealous  of  two  cow-hands 
who  worked  on  a  ranch  about  fifty  miles  north  of 
Milk  River,  and  so,  being  next-door  neighbors  to 
Got-Wet,  had  all  the  chance  denied  to  an  invalid 
lover  a  hundred  miles  awky.  Very  bad  charac- 
ters, Brat  moaned,  were  these  his  rivals,  especially 
the  elder.  Low  Lived  Joe,  who  was  in  a  smuggling 
partnership  with  old  Shifty  Lane,  and  had  given  the 
girl  a  black  silk  skirt,  said  to  be  of  great  value.  Oh, 
a  tremendous  dog  was  Low  Lived  Joe,  putting  on 
awful  side,  the  fop  of  local  society,  claiming  to  be 
engaged.  Brat  wailed  at  the  very  thought  of  that 
wealthy  rival.  As  to  the  other  cowboy,  he  was 
worse — ^the  blue-eyed,  curly-headed  Alabama  Flid, 
a  Harvard  graduate,  no  less,  from  whom  the  faith- 
less Got-Wet  had  accepted  a  diamond  engagement 
ring.  When  I  chaffed  him  Brat  was  peevish,  when 
I  advised,  he  sulked,  when  I  consoled  him  he  kicked 
me  on  the  shin  with  his  bad  foot. 

While  I  was  still  new  at  Fort  French,  a  complaint 
came  in  from  one  of  our  ex-policemen,  the  cock- 
eyed Honorable  Barrington  Beauclerc,  rancher  for 
whom  these  two  cowboys  were  riding.     Cock-eye 


BRAT 


203 


wanted  our  help  because  the  pair  of  scamps  had  run 
away,  making  oflf  with  his  imported  stud  horse. 
Lightning,  a  notorious  crock,  which  he  thought  could 
outrun  Phoebus.  Our  troop  detective,  McBugjuice, 
traced  the  kidnaped  stallion,  and  fcund  him  at 
Cheyenne,  down  in  the  left-hand  bottom  comer  of 
Wyoming.  Low  Lived  Joe  and  Alabama  Kid  had 
sold  the  horse  to  a  livery  man,  and  vanished. 

So  Brat  was  quit  of  his  rivals  ?  Not  a  bit  I  Got- 
Wet  had  disappeared  and  the  boy  was  frantic.  To 
comfort  him  I  told  him  he  could  kick  my  shins 
with  his  right  foot  as  often  as  he  pleased.  He 
would  not  be  comforted. 

Now  the  best  way  to  capture  Miss  Got-Wet's 
two  scamp  lovers,  was  to  keep  a  very  close  watch  on 
papa,  for  Mr.  Shifty  Lane's  trading  post  was  gen- 
eral headquarters  for  horse  thieves,  smugglers, 
whisky  runners  and  every  sort  of  thug  along  the 
border.  Of  course,  it  would  never  do  to  post  a  con- 
stable at  Writing-on-Stone,  for  it  is  a  rule  in  trap- 
ping never  to  sit  on  the  bait.  But  only  a  dozen 
miles  to  the  west  was  our  outpost  station  of  Slide- 
out,  abandoned  since  the  rebellion  had  drawn  our 
men  in  from  detachment.  So  Corporal  Buckie,  who 
knew  the  district  better  than  his  prayer-book,  was 
posted  to  Slide-out,  and  asked  to  select  a  brace  of 


204  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


constables.  He  selected  me  because  I  knew  the 
country,  also  a  man  called  Peggies,  a  genius  with 
the  banjo  and  a  crackerjack  at  cooking. 

As  for  me,  I  flatly  declined  to  listen  to  Buckie's 
worries  because  Black  Prince  had  been  grabbed  by  a 
mere  officer.  Black  Prince  was  quite  the  most 
famous  horse  who  ever  served  in  the  outfit.  In 
those  far  distant  times  of  11886  he  was  a  rookie, 
claiming — quite  untruthfully — to  be  a  four-year- 
old,  a  bouncing  infant  made  of  whalebone  and  rub- 
ber, shying  at  clouds  rather  than  shy  at  nothing,  full 
of  loving-kindness,  light-hearted  innocence  and  baby 
fun.  Range  horses  are  never  black,  but  his  spring 
coat  was  brown,  deepening  to  brown-black,  until 
in  autumn  one  almost  caught  a  blue  glint  on  his 
flank. 

That  such  a  charger  should  be  wasted  on  any 
mere  inspector  was  an  outrage.  So  Black  Prince 
and  I  came  to  a  little  private  arrangement  between 
ourselves.  Whenever  Inspector  "Blatherskite"  sent 
his  servant  to  saddle  up,  I  put  a  burr  under  the  sad- 
dle blanket  Ihus,  when  "Blatherskite"  mounted, 
there  were  always  volcanic  eruptions.  The  horse 
detested  the  very  sight  of  "Blatherskite,"  and  yet 
was  always  a  perfect  lamb  with  me.    To  own  him 


BRAT 


aos 


I  would  have  volunteered  to  stew  in  Suez.  The  day 
he  broke  "Blatherskite's"  off  collar-bone  I  cheek- 
ed the  sergeant-major,  knowing  quite  well  that  he 
would  try  to  get  even  with  me  by  some  unholy 
act  of  malice.  The  chap,  by  the  way,  is  doing  well 
now  as  a  parson. 

Sure  enough  Sergeant-Major  Samlet  palmed  off 
Black  Prince  on  me,  and  said  that  if  I  got  killed  I 
should  make  a  jolly  good  riddance.  At  that  I  look- 
ed so  glum  and  near  to  tears  that  he  felt  he  had 
done  me  the  worst  turn  possible.  Not  daring  to 
sit  in  the  saddle  because  of  the  burr  underneath 
I  led  Black  Prince  to  the  stable.     I  had  got  him! 

That  evening  I  bought  at  the  Hudson's  Bay  store 
a  black  silk  shirt,  and  a  silk  scarf  of  ruby  and  orange 
very  broadly  striped.  These,  with  my  old  shaps 
and  glittering  cartridge  belt  made  the  right  colors 
for  my  heaven-bom  horse  as  I  rode  out  with  Buckie 
on  the  trail  ;j  Slide-out.  Poggles  drove  the  team 
with  our  supplies,  and  we  made  the  eighty-eight 
miles  in  a  couple  of  easy  days. 

So  we  began  to  keep  house  in  the  old  'dobe  shacks 
at  Slide-out,  Corporal  Buckie  to  give  counsel  on  all 
proprieties,  Poggles  to  make  our  hearts  glad  with 
the  sauce-pan  and  the  banjo,  and  me  in  a  purring 


I  !■.' 


11 


i 


ao6  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


mood  with  my  tail  up— the  happiest  household  that 
ever  was  or  could  be.  Rich  Mixed  was  the  officer 
commanding. 

In  that  life  of  the  lone  outposts  each  constable 
by  turns  was  cook  for  the  week,  and  had  charge  of 
the  station,  leaving  the  other  fellows  free  for  pa- 
trols which  visited  every  settler  in  the  district.  To 
save  the  people  from  infection  among  their  live- 
stock, to  preserve  the  game  for  their  use,  to  suc- 
cor them  in  storm,  drought  or  famine,  guard  them 
from  thieves,  advise  them  in  difficulties,  assemble 
them  to  fight  range  fires  and  entertain  them  with- 
out charge  in  camp  or  quarters,  to  make  aliens  into 
citizens,  to  lay  the  foundations  of  the  state — such 
was  the  work  of  police  out  on  the  frontier. 

To  this  little  outpost  of  Slide-out  Buckie  had  been 
attached  in  his  rookie  days,  when  he  brought  me, 
dressed  in  blushes  and  a  vest,  to  my  enlistment. 
From  here  he  had  flirted  with  Got-Wet,  and  lured 
away  his  rival,  my  dear  Brat,  to  be  another  coyote 
at  Fort  French.  On  the  strength  of  all  that  Buckie 
was  most  paternal,  and  a  'dobe  shack  may  house 
much  dearer  memories  than  any  palace. 

We  had  not  been  so  very  long  at  Slide-out  when 
the  massive  dectective.  Sergeant  Ithuriel  McBugjuice 
came  ramping  down  upon  us,  reined  his  portly  cart 


BRAT 


aof 


horse,  and  in  a  double  basso-profound  roar,  "How, 
Buckie  I"  he  shouted;  "How,  Don  Coyote  I  Hurroar, 
young  Poggles,  what's  there  to  eat?  Great  Je- 
hoshaphatl  I'm  absolutely  starving.  Bai  jove,  yaasi" 

We  fed  roast  antelope  to  the  dying  man  until  we 
thought  he  would  burst,  with  powerful  coffee,  and 
a  heap  of  slapjacks,  and  finished  him  off  with  apple 
dumplings.  He  whispered  hoarsely  that  ]\t  felt 
much  betteh,  yaas,  able  to  sit  up,  bai  jove — er  and 
take  a  little  nourishment.  He  had  news  from  the 
Gieyenne  sheriff,  a  propah  sportman,  yaas;  Low 
Lived  Joe  and  Alabama  Kid  were  heading  north- 
ward indeed — ah. 

Now  I  had  seen  myself  that  very  day  tracks  of 
two  unknown  horsemen  with  a  pack  pony  shod  on 
the  fore  heading  northward  from  Shifty  Lane's 
trading  post  on  the  trail  to  Cock-eye  Beauclerc's. 
Here  then  were  the  wicked  cowboys  who  had  stolen 
Cock-eye's  stallion.  Detective  Sergeant  Ithuriel  F. 
McBugjuice  ordered  us  all  to  bed  for  a  rapid  sleep, 
bai  gingah! 

At  midnight  Poggles  and  Rich  Mixed,  who  were 
to  remain  in  charge  at  Slide-out,  awakened  us  for 
tea  and  ah — refreshments.  By  one  o'clock  a.  m., 
Buckie  and  T  'lelped  hoist  the  ponderous  detective 
on  to  his  roomy  chargah.    On  through  that  starry 


^1     i'l 


.IpI  M 


'I 


aoS  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACK3UARD 


night  we  slung  long  miles  behind  us,  then  shivering 
in  the  dawn  chill,  let  our  horses  graze  until  there 
was  light  enough  for  reading  tracks.  We  seemed  to 
breathe  the  pale  fine  gold  of  the  East  like  some 
divine  draught  which  gives  perpetual  youth,  to 
stand  upon  a  floor  of  living  gold  as  wide  as  heaven, 
to  wait  for  the  sun  as  though  God  were  about  to 
rise.  Then,  looking  back,  ,1  saw  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, angels  of  clear  flame,  kneel  on  a  wall  of  ten- 
derest  violet.  No  poet's  dream  brings  me  so  near 
to  Heaven  as  the  plains  at  daybreak. 

We  had  been  waiting  on  a  ripple  of  the  vrairirt 
for  light  enough  to  read  a  little  winding  trail.  Be- 
fore the  sun  rose,  we  saw.  Two  shod  horses,  at- 
tended by  a  pack  pony  shod  only  on  the  fore, 
traveling  swiftly,  by  night,  and  blundering  through 
sage-brush,  had  passed  on  the  w .  to  Beauclerc's. 
We  followed,  rolling  our  tails  for  Hand  Creek 
which  we  made  by  half  past  ten.  The  ranch  was 
empty. 

Here  the  signs  read  clear.  Poor  little  Cock- 
eye Beauderc  had  been  surprised  in  bed,  and  tied  up 
after  a  sharp  tussle.  His  monocle  lay  smashed,  a 
pathetic  relic.  His  basket  of  good,  old  family  plate 
had  been  emptied,  and  the  young  robbers  had  gone 
off  south  by  east  at  a  lope.  Afterward  the  captive 


BRAT 


«C9 


Beauclerc  had  cut  loose  from  the  rope  which  lashed 
him  to  his  bed.  had  crossed  to  the  sUble,  left  his 
lantern  burning,  and  Uken  his  buckboard  with  a 
lame  old  mare,  heading  for  Medicine  Hat.  He 
would  get  help  from  our  detachment  there.  We 
cooked  a  meal,  fed  our  horses,  left  a  note  for  Cock- 
eye, and  hit  the  trail  again  directed  for  home.  So 
long  as  our  hairies  thought  they  were  going  home 
they  would  give  us  of  their  best.  So  long  as  we  did 
not  alarm  our  little  jail-birds  they  would  head  for 
Une's.  Birds  of  that  feather  flocked  to  Une  by  in- 
stinct.   Our  job  was  to  get  there  first. 

All  day  we  rode  on  the  floor  of  an  mvisible  ocean, 
looking  up  at  the  keels  of  the  cloud-fleet  on  its  sur- 
face, in  belts  of  sudden  light  and  racing  shadow. 
Then  as  the  sun  shone  level,  we  tut  the  trail  from 
Slide-out  to  Writing-on-Stone,  having  covered  in  all 
some  ninety  miles  with  only  six  to  go. 

"By  the  Great  Horn  Spoon!"  roared  bull-faced 
McBugjuice,  "look  at  that,  eh,  what  I" 

Buckie  and  I  dismounted  to  kneel  in  the  trail  and 
read  sign. 

"A  white  man,"  said  Dandy  in  his  best  official 
manner,  stating  aU  that  was  really  obvious  at  a 
nfile.  "Afoot,"  said  he;  "that's  strange.  Heading 
■for  Une's  too.     Who  can  it  be,  afoot!     Long 


210  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


boots,"  he  crawled  past  me,  jostling  for  room, 
"police  heels.  Load  on  the  off  shoulder — dead 
weary,  too.    Here's  the  right  foot — " 

"Damn  that  Brat,"  said  I,  for  in  the  deeply  in- 
dented right  track  there  was  no  sign  of  the  toes. 
Here  was  my  wretched  brother,  a  hundred  miles 
from  duty,  limping  across  the  plains  with  an  open 
wound.  The  blasted  Bi^t  needed  a  feeding  teat 
and  a  bib.  I  swou  I  would  tear  his  hide  off,  and 
stretch  the  dirty  pelt  for  a  drum-head.  So  we  rode 
on  with  His  Obesity,  the  sergeant  detective,  burbl- 
ing in  the  rear. 

From  the  moment  we  turned  eastward  away  from 
home  our  three  horses  said  they  were  seriously  un- 
well, dead  lame,  with  symptoms  of  giving  up  the 
ghost;  and  ninety  miles  at  a  happy  gait  is  nothing 
compared  with  six  at  an  exhausted  crawl.  So  we 
were  bone-weary  and  sick  of  life  when  he  made 
Lane's  at  dusk.  There  were  no  signs  of  our  jail- 
birds as  we  trailed  down  into  the  Milk  River  coulee. 
They  had  not  yet  arrived. 

But  my  Brat  would  be  at  the  house,  and  arrested 
for  deserting  unless  I  warned  him.  I  whipped  out 
my  gun  and  rolled  it  while  Black  Prince,  Bud..c 
and  the  sergeant  threw  hysterics. 


£RaT 


311 


"Don't  shoot!"  cr.fd  Buck!;,  when  my  gun  was 
emptied,  "we  want  them  liiic/es I" 

"Dam' cheek,  shootin' no  ordahs.  Damme  I"  roar- 
ed the  sergeant  when  I  had  sheathed  my  gun. 

When  we  reached  the  house  there  was  Lane, 
lounging  in  the  only  doorway,  and  hailing  us. 

"How,  ShermogonishI  (Welcome,  soldiers.)  Af- 
ter deserters,  eh  ?  Well,  now,  I  alius  aim  to  oblige 
you  police  gents.  Got  one  for  yous  right  here." 
He  jerked  his  thumb  back.  "Which  he  shorely  tried 
to  get  away  when  he  heerd  them  shots." 

My  Brat  was  caught  in  Shifty's  trap  all  right,  and 
feeling  very  sick  I  led  the  three  horses  away  to 
stable  them.  But  Buckie  came  running  behind,  and 
whispered  to  me,  "We'll  see  to  your  brother.  Don't 
worry  about  that.  You  want  to  keep  your  eye 
skinned  watching  Shifty.  See  he  don't  signal  them 
horse  thieves." 

When  I  got  back  from  the  stable  I  found  my 
brother  sitting  on  the  door-step. 
"Hullo,  Brat!"  said  I.  "Deserting?" 
Brat  was  weak  with  the  pain  of  his  wound,  slack, 
with  fatigue  and  looked  very  frail  for  such  a  life 
as  ours.  I  was  always  rough  and  ugly,  lacking  his 
patrician  fineness,  the  grand  air,  the  gentle  grace, 


212  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

envious  a  little  of  his  large,  soft,  brilliant  eyes,  his 
amazing  charm  of  manner.  He  gave  to  our  majestic 
Spanish  a  sweeter  resonance.  He  pleaded  with  me 
for  help,  for  sympathy,  telling  me  why  he  came  to 
Lane's  afoot.  Did  I  think,  he  asked  me,  that  no- 
body but  myself  had  the  right  to  rescue  a  woman? 

There  was  a  bench  by  the  door,  with  a  basin,  soap 
and  a  towel,  so  while  Brat  told  me  his  trouble,  I 
stripped  to  the  waist  and  got  comfy.  Then  I  called 
Buckie  and  talked  with  him  in  whispers  lest  Lane 
should  overhear. 

"Buckie,  my  Brat  says  that  this  horse  thief,  Low 
Lived  Joe,  kidnaped  Lane's  girl  and  sold  her." 

"Got-Wet?" 

"Yes.  Down  in  Wyoming.  She's  a  white  slave 
at  Cheyenne.    She  wants  to  be  rescued." 

The  detective  sergeant  had  joined  us,  and  broke 
in  with  a  hoarse  stage  whisper  audible  for  miles. 

"Ought  to  have  got  a  pass,  eh,  what?" 

"Refused,"  said  Brat,    "Sam  wouldn't  let  me  go." 

"Long  walk,  by  thundah.  Thousand  miles- 
more,  to  Cheyenne.  Ought  to  have  stolen  a  horse, 
eh?    Damme!  Yaas." 

"It's  too  late  now,"  said  Brat. 

"Shouldn't  get  taught.  Desertion.  Looks  dam' 
bad.     Can't  be  done— no,  damme.     Got  to  arrest 


BRAT 


313 


you.  Can't  have  this  Lane  person  reporting  me — 
neglect  of  duty.    Yaas." 

Brat  looked  up  at  the  big  whole-hearted  ruffian. 
"Lane  would  report  you,  and  Sam  would  break  you, 
Sergeant.  I'm  not  going  to  run  away,  '^o  have  you 
smashed.    Is  there  no  way,  Sergeant?" 

Ithuriel  F.  McBugjuice  scratched  his  head  and  his 
piggy  eyes  narrowed  to  slits.  "It's  like — er — your 
blasted  cheek,"  he  said  out  loud.  "Does  Shifty 
Lane  know?    Eh,  what?" 

"Know  what?"  came  Lane's  rasping  voice  from 
the  house.     "Know  what?" 

"That  your  daughtah,  young  Got-Wet,  blast  your 
soul,  has  been  kidnaped  by  Low  Lived  Joe,  con- 
found you,  and  sold  for  a  white  slave,  you — er — 
jumped  up  swine,  and  you  stand  there  gulping  as  if 
you  liked  getting  half  shares  in  the  price  of  your 
girl,  you  toad!    Yaas!  damme!" 

I  saw  the  trader  turning  gray  with  horror.  Rage 
would  come  next  against  the  partner  who  had  so 
betrayed  him.  So  our  detective  would  use  Shifty 
Lane  for  the  capture  of  Low  Lived  Joe.  The  trader 
made  no  sound,  no  comment,  but  turned  away,  bent 
down  and  looking  very  old,  to  collapse  in  his  raw- 
hide chair  beside  the  stove.  His  squaw  came  out 
and  beckoned  that  supper  was  ready. 


i& 


214  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

After  supper  it  was  my  job  to  unsaddle,  water, 
feed  and  bed  the  horses,  but  I  hid  a  sort  of  muddled 
feeling  about  Low  Lived  Joe  and  his  partner,  the 
Kid.  They  were  coming,  and  we  wanted  to  see 
them  come,  but  if  they  found  police  horses  with 
banged  tails  in  the  stables  they  would  quit  coming 
and  pass  the  house  severally  by  instead  of  leaving 
cards.  Moreover,  they  miglit  be  in  need  of  remounts, 
and  borrow  our  horses,  leaving  us  all  afoot.  So  I 
tied  the  horses  to  the  fence  behind  the  house,  and 
made  them  comfy  there.  As  for  the  saddles,  I 
lugged  them  into  the  house. 

And  if  I  was  any  judge  of  blackguards,  old 
Shifty  needed  watching.  So  I  sat  in  the  doorway 
for  my  evening  pipe,  trying  to  keep  awake.  From 
where  I  squatted  I  could  see  the  lamp-lit  living- 
room,  as  well  as  the  moonlit  yard.  Lane  and  his 
squaw  took  the  lamp  with  them  into  the  litt'e  inner 
room  where  they  slept,  pulling  its  doors  to,  until 
the  latch  caught  on  its  hasp  with  a  click.  The  moon 
poured  treasure  of  silver  light  into  the  living-room 
of  that  evil  house. 

McBug juice  lugged  over  his  saddle  and  spread 
his  cloak  and  blanket  across  the  inner  door.  On 
the  sneck  he  hung  his  serge,  his  waistcoat,  and  his 
boots  which  would  fall  on  his  head  and  wake  him 


BRAT 


2IS 


.,  I. 


if  any  one  tried  to  get  out  of  the  bedroom.  In  his 
elephantine  way  he  had  a  certain  slyness — that  de- 
tective. He  turned  to  my  brother,  who  sat  crouch- 
ed beside  the  stove. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  Brat.  Share  my  bed,  eh, 
what?" 

My  brother  hobbled  across  to  thank  him  for  his 
kindness. 

"Promise  not  to  run,  eh?"  He  was  belting  on 
his  side-arms  for  the  night.  Brat  glanced  at  me,  and 
I  made  "Don't"  in  the  sign  talk. 

The  fat  detective  grunted  dismally,  then  took  his 
hand-cuffs  from  the  pocket  of  his  vest,  put  the  key 
back  in  the  pocket  and  shackled  Brat's  right  wrist 
to  his  own  left.  So  they  turned  in— "Indeed,  ah! 
Doosed  chilly,  eh,  what?" 

Meanwhile,  the  ever-dutiful  Buckie  fussed  around 
in  the  yard,  taking  ostentatious  precautions  by  way 
of  setting  me  a  good  example.  He  passed  the  loop 
of  his  rope  around  a  plank  of  the  stable  door, 
stretched  its  fifty-foot  length  to  a  point  abreast  of 
the  house,  then  made  the  rope-end  fast  to  the  collar 
strap  of  his  cloak,  and  laj  down  in  his  blanket  with 
the  cloak  pulled  over  him.  The  only  things  left  in 
the  closely-guarded  stable  wtre  my  cloak  and  blan- 
ket, but  when  I  said  so,  he  was  most  ungrateful. 


i 


ai6  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

He  told  me  he  was  a  corporal  and  my  superior  of- 
ficer, with  more  to  the  same  effect,  rie  flounced 
across  my  outstretched  legs  in  the  doorway  to  get 
inside  the  house  and  bed  down  warm  by  the  stove. 
But,  however  funny,  he  was  never  vulgar,  never 
used  coarse  language  to  relieve  harsh  feelings  like  a 
common  trooper.  He  continued  to  set  me  a  good 
example  and  teach  me  official  language,  until  his 
muttered  declamation  tailed  off  into  a  snore.  I 
strolled  across  to  take  his  telltale  rope  off  the  sta- 
ble door,  lest  it  should  warn  the  robbers. 

On  my  way  to  the  stable,  I  noticed  that  Shifty 
had  his  lamp  alight  behind  a  red  blind  in  his  bed- 
room window — a  danger-signal  that.  When  I  came 
back  from  a  good-night  talk  with  the  horses,  that 
lamp  was  still  alight,  but  the  red  blind  was  gone. 
Shifty  had  signaled,  "All  clear.  Police  gone  away, 
come  in !" 

As  far  as  Shifty  knew,  the  robbers  would  come, 
would  find  police  horses  with  banged  tails  in  the 
stable,  and  be  on  their  guard  as  they  approached  the 
house.  He  never  really  loved  the  police.  We  should 
be  caught  asleep,  in  the  dark  house,  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, shooting  at  one  another  by  mistake. 

Haste  is  a  fool's  passion,  so  I  sat  in  the  doorway 
to  think. 


BRAT 


217 


Surely  those  robbers  would  find  no  sign  of  police 
until  they  were  safely  trapped  inside  the  house.  I 
could  hear  Shifty  Lane  fussing  about  in  his  bed- 
room—just like  a  bottled  bee.   I  was  very  drowsy. 

Still,  in  my  little  Dago  way,  I  went  on  plotting 
against  the  whites.  The  robbers  must  have  been 
watching  from  some  hill  until  they  thought  it  safe 
to  approach.  Now  they  would  come,  and  I  had 
barely  time  for  the  next  move  in  my  game.  I  slipped 
into  the  moonlit  room,  took  the  key  of  the  hand- 
cuffs from  the  detective's  vest  pocket,  unshackled 
my  Brat,  aroused  him  and  told  him  to  clear  out 
and  rescue  Got-Wet.  I  had  to  take  him  by  the 
shoulders  and  run  him  out  of  the  house. 

When  he  was  gone,  I  slipped  the  handcuff  over 
my  own  wrist,  but  left  the  key  in  its  lock,  then  drew 
the  whole  of  the  detective's  blanket  over  me.  Be- 
ing thin,  I  needed  the  blanket  more  than  he  did. 
And  being  cold,  he  would  wake  up  as  I  intended. 

Brat  stole  back,  waited  until  I  snored,  then  roused 
up  Buckie,  who  grumped  at  him  most  wrathfuUy. 
Poor  Brat  was  smoking  a  cigarette,  quite  ostenta- 
tiously at  his  ease,  while,  by  the  glow  from  the 
stove,  I  could  see  the  big  tears  trickling  down  his 
face.  He  hawked,  coughed  and  sniffed,  getting  con- 
trol of  his  voice  before  he  could  speak  without  blub- 


li 


Iff 


rlii 


2i8  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


bering.  "Corporal,"  he  began  very  stiffly,  "we're 
comparative  strangers,  eh  ?" 

"Oh,  give  us  a  rest  I" 

"But  I  want  this  to  be  private — off  duty — see? 
You  and  my  brother  are  chums." 

"GettoheU!" 

"My  brother  loosed  me  I" 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  ' 

"He  has  taken  my  place — shackled  himself  to  the 
sergeant.  He'll  get  a  year's  hard  labor  and  dis- 
missed from  the  force !" 

"Serve  him  right!" 

The  youngster's  voice  broke  beyond  all  control. 
"A  La  Mancha,"  he  wailed,  "the  La  Mancha  dis- 
gracefully expelled  I  He'll  shoot  himself  as  sure  as — 
We've  got  to  save  him  before  the  sergeant  wakes. 
Got- Wet  can  go  to  blazes  I" 

My  medicine  was  working  famously. 

It  is  only  on  looking  back  that  one  sees  events  in 
their  sequence,  their  ordered  movement  toward  the 
inevitable  end.  I  changed  places  with  Brat,  expect- 
ing to  be  in  irons  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  until  we 
went  on  duty  to  catch  the  robbers.  Brat,  being  a 
gentleman,  could  not  possibly  leave  me  in  the  lurch 
to  save  a  dozen  Got-Wets.  My  only  idea  was  to 
show  him  his  own  heart.    I  never  dreamed  of  the 


BRAT 


319 


far-away  years  to  come  when  I  should  owe  my  life 
tc  Brat's  lifelon/y  gratitude. 

Meanwhile,  he  had  Buckie  roused  to  a  royal  rage, 
fully  alert,  vindictively  chucking  wood  into  the 
stove.  The  stove  was  opposite  to  the  open  door,  its 
glare  would  light  the  room  for  our  job  of  trapping 
robbers.  It  would  lure  the  robbers  in  with  hopes 
of  a  rousing  supper,  and  blind  their  eyes  as  they  en- 
tered. Yes,  my  scheme  worked  to  perfection. 
Buckie  was  rousing  the  detective,  who  sat  up  drawl- 
ing, "Have  I  the  bleedin'  rats,  or  am  I  sobah?" 
Then  he  saw  me,  and  asked  what  the  deuce  I  was 
playing  at.  I  told  him  the  robbers  were  coming, 
so  he  had  better  loose  me.  He  unlocked  the  hand- 
cuffs— indeed,  ah  I 

Log  walU,  hewn  planks,  black  beams  hotiy  aglow 
with  restless,  flickering  lights  from  the  stove;  cool 
stiU  moonbeams  raining  to  sapphire  pools  upon  the 
floor;  the  silence,  like  some  great  visitant  angel  of 
the  plains  folding  his  wings  in  the  doorway;  our 
hearts  beating  like  drums  as  we  stood  listening: 
then  the  soft  pulsation  of  horses  quivered  under- 
foot, a  quick,  deep,  throbbing  chord  of  hoof-beats 
from  the  bridge,  a  trampling  close  at  hand,  the  tin- 
kle of  a  spur. 

A  youngster  clattered  in  with  trailing  spurs,  d  g- 


^:il 


220  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


ging  a  sack  which  crashed  and  rattled  over  the  door- 
step. "Rouse  out!"  he  shouted.  "On  yer  banglers, 
Shifty!  Where's  yer  squaw?  There's  antelope 
venison  coming !" 

The  door  swung  to  behind  him,  Buckie  whipped 
the  gun  from  his  slung  holster,  McBugjuice  whis- 
pered, "Shui  your  mouth  or  I'll  drop  youl"  and  I 
clapped  the  handcuffs  on  Alabama  Kid,  while  Brat 
dragged  off  the  suck  load  of  Beauderc's  plate. 

Then  a  gunshot  rang  sharp  outside,  we  heard  a 
choking  cough,  and  something  fell  through  the 
door,  shoving  it  wide  open.  Low  Lived  Joe  lay 
dead  in  the  pool  of  moonlight. 

With  a  flying  leap,  I  smashed  through  the  inner 
door  into  the  bedroom,  and  caught  old  Shifty  climb- 
ing through  the  window  from  whence  he  had  shot 
his  partner.  I  took  the  smoking  rifle,  and  led  him 
back  to  the  main  room,  where  he  crouched  in  his 
rawhide  chair  shaking  all  over,  muttering,  staring. 
The  red  glare  from  the  stove  was  upon  him  as  he 
faced  that  dread  figure  asprawl  in  the  moonlit  door- 
way. "  'Twas  me  as  done  that,"  he  kept  saying 
with  an  air  of  surprise.  "Me  shorely  'as  done  that 
— 'cause  he  sold  my  darter.  Got- Wet,  I  done  that." 

His  old  squaw  had  followed  us  out  of  the  bed- 
room, wrapped  in  a  gray  blanket,  her  gray  hair 


BRAT  221 

streaming,  her  gray  face  cold  as  death,  and  in  a 
dead  voice,  without  emotion  or  even  interest,  she 
spoke  across  the  room  to  me  in  Blackfoot. 

"I  lay  aside  the  silence  of  fifty  snows.    It  is  the 
time  for  speaking.    I  speak  to  you,  Charging  Buf- 
falo, and  you  must  tell  these  Stone-hearts  all  my 
words." 
I  promised. 

"My  man,  Bad  Mouth,  sitting  there  by  the  fire- 
light, let  that  poor  boy  (Alabama  Kid)  run  up  a 
heap  of  debt.  And  the  dead  man  there  threatened 
him.  Those  two  bad  men  drove  the  boy  to  stealing. 
They  made  him  into  a  thief.  The  boy  has  done  no 
wrong,  and  he  is  clean.    Let  him  go." 

"Mother,"  said  I,  when  that  was  translated,  "we 
thank  you  for  words  which  will  save  the  boy  from 
prison." 

She  turned  to  my  Brat.  "Warrior,"  she  said,  and 
I  translated  phrase  by  phrase,  "you  loved  my  daugh- 
ter. Got- Wet.  The  dead  man  there  was  her  lover. 
She  made  him  run  away  with  her.  Then  she  de- 
serted him.  He  was  too  slow  to  keep  her  company 
on  the  way  she  went  to  shame.  Think  no  more  of 
my  daughter,  who  laughs  at  you  always. 

"You,  Bad  Mouth,"  she  spoke  to  her  own  man, 
"I  am  no  longer  your  woman  to  be  dragged  down 


il 


333  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


into  shame.  I  am  a  daughter  of  those  who  do  not 
lie,  or  cheat,  or  betray.  I  go  to  the  camps  of  my 
people." 

So,  in  the  end,  the  Alabama  Kid  was  acquitted, 
and  is  a  wealthy  rancher.  Lane  died  in  prison.  His 
woman  went  to  her  people  and  lived  in  honor.  As 
to  my  Brat,  he  was  punished  for  breaking  barracks, 
and  promoted  to  the  rank  of  corporal  for  his  help 
in  breaking  up  a  gang  of  criminals. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDEK 


IF  I  were  a  painter  I  should  make  three  pictures. 
For  the  painting  of  Life  I  should  dip  my  brushes 
only  in  sunlight  and  starlight.  That  it  .contrast 
with  the  darkness  his  figure  should  stand  radiant. 
For  the  painting  of  Hope  the  sunrise  should  be  my 
palette,  and  robed  in  splendors  of  the  sky,  triumph- 
ant he  should  ride  an  unstable  sea  of  glory.  But 
for  the  painting  of  Memory,  when  I  had  used  up 
all  the  sunset,  I  should  pray  God  lend  me  a  pot  of 
glamour. 

It  is  that  glamour  which  allays  the  burning  pain 
of  memory,  the  fierce  regret,  the  anger,  shame, 
remorse.  The  stark  event,  the  odious  consequence, 
the  bitter  aftermath  are  all,  as  one  looks  back,  ar- 
rayed in  lovely  hues  of  distance,  and  a  sweet  magic 
torn  from  the  veil  of  time,  bo  I  recall  that  last 
year  of  my  service  in  the  mounted  police;  my  soul 

223 


224  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

which  outlived  defeat  becomes  victorious.  He  viho 
stumbles  and  falls  not,  only  mends  his  pace. 

First  I  must  speak  of  Sam,  the  young  superin- 
tendent commanding  D,  an  Irish-Canadian  gentle- 
man of  a  service  family,  and  Regimental  No.  i  of 
the  mounted  police.  Because  he  was  a  bom  soldier, 
a  record-breaking  horseman,  a  great  scout  master 
and  an  incomparable  leader,  the  untameable  out- 
laws of  the  force  were  sent  to  him  for  treatment. 
They  feared  him,  as  they  feared  death,  ate  out  of  his 
hand,  and  made  his  division  the  crack  troop  of  the 
outfit.  He  would  carouse  with  his  troopers  all 
night,  and  punish  us  in  the  morning  for  being  dnmk, 
would  drill  us  till  we  smashed,  punish  us  without 
mercy  and  prove  our  best  friend  when  we  were  in 
trouble.  We  loved  and  hated  him  fanatically,  and 
like  inspired  fanatics  made  a  crusade  of  our  duties. 
The  troop  was  just  as  brilliant  as  its  leader. 

In  1887,  Chief  Isadore  and  his  Kootenay  tribe 
were  restive,  so  the  province  of  British  Columbia 
asked  the  Dominion  government  for  help,  and  our 
troop  was  sent  across  the  Crow's  Nest  Pass  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  Our  base  camp  was  the  site  of 
Fort  Steele  on  Wild  Horse  Creek. 

Now  an  English  curate  came  to  pass,  and  grieved 
at  our  spiritual  destitution  proposed  an  open  air 


A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER      225 

service.     So  Sam,  being  by  his  blood  Anglican. 
Royalist  and  a  soldier,  ordered  a  church  parade. 
Whereupon  some  of  us  became  Roman  Catholic, 
others  found  that  their  duties  forbade  attendance,' 
and  the  rest  of  the  troop  went  sick.    Hence,  a  proc- 
la.nation  that  at  the  sound  of  the  bugle,  cooks  and 
Catholics,  sick,  lame  or  lazy  should  attend  Sam's 
church  parade  on  pain  of  death.  Sam  had  his  back 
up.    Also  the  troop  had  its  back  up  and  in  mass 
meeting  resolved  that  any  son  of  a  sea  cook  presum- 
mg  to  sing,  respond  or  contribute  at  a  compulsory 
church  parade  should  afterward  be  drowned.    The 
service  was  therefore  a  duet  between  Sam  and  the 
curate  without  any  sound  from^hft  chorus.    After- 
ward Sam  preached,  anSouncing  a  second  church 
parade  next  Sunday  and  hinting  at  setting  up  drills 
which  would  make  the  dearly  beloved  brethren  sweat 
blood. 

That  afternoon  at  the  bathing  place  we  tried  Beef 
Hardy  by  court-martial  for  contributing  to  the  cu- 
rate's oflfertor/  He  proved  that  he  was  only  a 
civilian  interpreter  attached,  and  that  his  offering 
was  a  button.  We  had  to  let  him  oflF,  but  the  whole 
troop  yearned  for  somebody  to  drown. 

"Brethren,"  said  I.  "Sinners!  When  that  kind 
gentleman  saved  our  souls  this  morning,  it  was 


.)    ;l 


'J 


226  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


borae  in  upon  me  what  an  abandoned  parcel  of 
Gadarene  swine  you  all  are — except  me.  You  forget 
that  our  Sam  is  Smoothbore,  the  father  of  many 
children." 

"Ho  I  Catch  on  to  the  Blackguard  sucking  up  to 
Sam  I" 

"Triplet.  I'm  a  man,  and  you're  a  nasty  trick 
played  on  your  mother."  i 

The  sentiment  was  cheered. 

"And  now,"  said  I,  "my  little  friends,  I'm  going 
to  break  out  in  a  new  place.  I've  got  religion,  and 
I  don't  propose  to  let  you  pollute  my  holy  peace  by 
using  bad  words,  unless  you  think  you  can  lick  me." 

"Why,  dammit!"  howled  Red  Saunders,  who  had 
the  foulest  mouth  in  the  troop. 

"My  erring  brother,"  said  I. 

"Yougoto'ell!" 

He  dived,  and  fully  dressed  as  I  was  I  followed, 
holding  him  tmder  water  by  his  gaudy  hair  until  he 
made  signs  for  peace.  Then  he  came  up  spluttering 
to  breathe. 

"But  'ow  the  devil—" 

I  told  him  not  to  brag  about  his  father,  then  called 
him  a  catechumen,  which  knocked  him  out 

"Wall,  I'll  be  damned !"  said  Pief  ace. 

"True,"  said  I,  and  immersed  him.    "Dost  thoa 


A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER  227 
r^t  Ace.  Pieface?  Art  thou  resolved  to  live  a 
godly  hfe,  and  pay  me  back  three  dollars  that  thou 
owcst  ? 

I  drowned  him  until  he  promised  to  sing  in  my 
choir  next  Sunday.  S   n  my 

So  finding  that  troopers  were  not  allowed  to 
«wear  Mutiny.  Tribulation  and  Calamity,  who  al- 
ways hunted  in  concert,  began  a  combined  attack 
upon  St.  Blackguard. 

On  that,  five  decent  men  who  disliked  foul  lan- 
guage promptly  joined  my  choir  for  next  Sunday 
and  proceeded  to  enlist  with  contusions  Mutiny 
Calamity  and  Tribulation.  These  with  Red  and  Pie- 
^ce  for  choristers-by-force,  made  eleven  singers. 

«=ook  Th.8  learned  doctor  of  beans  and  sow-belly 
outweighed  me  mainly  below  the  belt,  but  was  so 
fat  ttat  I  found  his  vitals  very  hard  to  come  at,  and 
feared  I  should  be  overlain  and  smothered.  Nine 
nmnds  we  fought  before  he  could  be  converted;  but 
with  hm,  came  three  penitents  whom  he  had  thrashed 
that  summer,  and  when  they  confessed  their  errors 
I  had  half  the  duty  men  for  choristers  at  a  cost  of 
only  two  black  eyes  and  an  inflamed  ear. 

Nothing  would  suit  me  now  short  of  triumnh 
over  all  the  wicked,  but  to  secure  a  unanimorsZe 


228     THE  CHEERFUL'  BLACKGUARD 


I  must  use  the  curate.  Him  I  waylaid  in  the  dusk, 
and  gave  him  so  smart  a  salute  th9*.  his  mule  bucked. 
I  picked  him  respectfully  out  of  a  rose  bush  and 
asked  permission  to  speak  with  him  in  private. 

"I  want  to  sample  your  religion,  sir." 

The  padre  seemed  to  be  shaken  and  resentful, 
saying  that  his  religion  had  that  very  morning  been 
freely  offered.  ' 

"Freely?"  I  asked. 

"You  mean  the  parade  was  compulsory?" 

"Yes,  sir,  rammed  down  our  throats,  an  insult  to 
Pater  Noster.  Any  man  guilty  of  taking  part  in 
that  was  to  be  drowned  imtil  he  apologized  to  the 
troop." 

"By  jove,"  said  the  padre.  "The  next  serv'-e 
shall  be  free.    But  will  they  sing?" 

"Turn  loose  the  national  anthem,"  said  L  "Any 
man  shying  at  that  is  a  traitor.  Cover  your  lectern 
with  the  Union  Jack,  and  the  boys  will  stand  to  at- 
tention.   Leave  your  sermon  behind." 

"Why!" 

"Because  each  of  us  has  lived  more,  sir,  in  twenty 
years,  than  you  will  in  sixty.  .You  can't  teach  until 
you've  lived." 

"You  forget,"  he  said  huffily,  "that  I  bear  a  mes- 
Mge." 


A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER      229 

"A  sword,  Padre,  in  the  hands  of  a  fool." 
He  stepped  back,  tripped  and  sat  down  with  a 
bang,  very  thoughtful. 

Presently  he  tamed  himself  and,  thinking  of  my 
words,  "Pater  Noster,"  asked  if  I  were  a  Roman 
CathMic.    His  tone  was  full  of  bitter  prejudice. 

"Outdoor  men,"  said  I  in  my  cock-surest  manner, 
"don't  join  indoor  denominations." 
"You  dare  to  call  the  church— that !" 
"Has  it  not  doors?"  I  asked  meekly. 
"Yes,"  he  shouted,  "and  they  are  wide  open  to  all 
mankind  1" 
"With  a  stuffy  smell  inside." 
"You  are  irreverent.    The  church  is  "-oly." 
"Our  Lord,"  I  spoke  sincerely  now,  "described  the 
thurch  of  His  time  as  a  den  of  thieves.    As  to  what 
He  said  about  the  priests!    I  don't  want  to  be  rude 
to  you.  Padre.    To  get  away  from  the  church  and 
the  clergy  He  preached  outdoors,  lived  in  the  wil- 
derness and  replaced  all  your  dogmas  and  your  doc- 
trines with  one  word— Love.    Do  you  foUow  Him 
eh.  Padre?" 

^^  I  stepped  back.  "Do  you  know,  sir,"  I  asked, 
"what  the  ancient  Greeks  did  when  it  rained?  No? 
They  got  wet,  Padre.  You  do  the  same."  I  passed 
behind  a  bush,  and  he  thought  I  vanished.    After- 


\ 

^   ''I 

''I 

'tl 


230  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


ward  he  told  Sam  that  he  had  met  the  devil,  and 
wrestled,  coming  out  triumphant. 

On  Monday,  the  airate  came  with  us  on  our 
march  to  the  sources  of  the  Columbia  River.  There 
at  Lake  Windermere,  a  steamer  brought  several 
loads  of  stores  which  we  trans-shipped  by  wagon 
to  our  various  outposts. 

And  so  it  was  in  canfip  at  Windermere  that  the 
curate  held  free  service,  all  hands  and  the  cook  at 
tending.  The  flag  on  the  lectern  constrained  us  to 
decent  conduct.  The  singing,  led  by  St.  Black- 
guard's choir  with  the  national  anthem  was  a  great 
success.  It  rained  right  heartily,  and  in  our  cavalry 
cloaks  we  watched  the  padre  getting  wet  like  a 
sportsman.  He  cut  the  sermon  and  got  a  thumping 
offertory.  Sam  was  pleased  all  to  pieces,  and  on  the 
betting  I  came  out  forty-nine  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
in  solid  cash. 

In  sober  earnest,  my  choir  toned  down  the  lan- 
guage of  the  camp  to  the  verge  of  decency,  and 
from  Buckie's  Bible,  which  I  had  been  reading 
steadily  for  a  year,  I  set  a  good  example  to  the  troop. 
Thus,  when  the  steamer  skipper  sold  me  a  box  of 
cigars:  "The  wicked  shall  consume,"  said  I,  "at  two 
for  $1  quarter."    They  did,  but  some  of  the  wicked 


A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER      331 

thought,  in  their  fond  way,  that  they  could  con- 
sume on  credit. 

"Young  Murphy,"  said  I,  "thou  owest  for  eight 
of  the  best" 

"Oh.  come  off  I  What  d'ye  think  yer  playing  at  ?" 

"Surely,"  said  I,  "the  wringing  of  the  nose  brine- 
eth  forth  blood." 

It  did,  and  Murphy  paid. 

The  box  of  cigars  having  netted  twelve  dollars,  I 
got  seven  others  worse  than  the  first  which  fell  on  a 
stony  crowd  but  yielded  two  hundredfold. 

Next,  the  steamer  cook  sold  me  a  litter  of  little 
pigs,  and  our  cook  supplied  the  husks  which  my 
swine  did  eat,  so  that  they  grew  and  waxed  fat  and 
kicked  over  the  oat  bin. 

"Some  evil  beast,"  I  told  Buckie,  "hath  devoured 
two  whole  sacks  of  oats,  and  the  quartermaster,  he 
rageth  furiously.  He  calleth  upon  the  officer  com- 
manding, so  I've  sold  out  all  my  pigs.  They're  not 
our  pigs  now,  Buckie— not  unto  us  the  praise— not 
unto  us." 

Buckie  had  a  natural  aptitude  for  being  shocked. 
Two  of  him  plus  one  harmonium  would  equal  a 
mother's  meeting. 

The  padre  was  a  bigot,  Buckie  a  prude,  the  boys 


332  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

were  just  ruffians,  and  none  of  them  understood  that 
I,  the  poor  troop  jester,  with  an  aching  heart,  felt 
the  need,  the  first  faint  stirrings  of  a  real  religion. 


The  camp  beside  Lake  Windermere  was  destined 
to  be  my  last  before  I  ^left  the  force.  So  I  recall 
the  last  evening  of  my  peace,  dwelling  on  all  its 
memories,  so  bitter  sweet. 

I  was  in  Buckie's  tent,  and  sat  by  the  dooi  with 
palm  and  buckskin  needle  sewing  a  little  sack  of 
milk-white  antelope  hide.  Red  Saunders,  still  my 
friend  in  those  days  ere  ever  I  knew  him  as  an 
enemy,  sat  by  me  with  his  button-stick  burnishing 
timic  buttons  for  to-morrow's  guard.  Yonder, 
across  the  way  was  Sergeant-Major  Samlet,  a  ple- 
beian parody  of  Sam,  out  patrician  chief,  instruct- 
ing Buckie  who  wore  the  orderly  corporal's  cross 
belt  for  that  week.  With  them  stood  the  orderly  of- 
ficer, poor  old  Blatherskite,  his  f  rogged  coat  sharply 
black  against  their  scarlet.  In  the  nearest  tent  on 
my  right  were  Brat,  in  charge,  Beef  Hardy  the 
scout,  Pieface  and  Spud  Murphy  of  Cor-r-k,  play- 
ing poker,  silent  as  the  grave.    In  the  nearest  tent  on 


A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER      233 

my  l«£t,  that  queer  triumvirate,  Mutiny,  Calamity 
and  Tribulation,  were  concocting  secret  plots  with 
which  the  welkin  rang. 

And  at  my  side  Red  Saunders  comfortably 
grousing. 

"When  a  man's  got  a  'orse,"  he  growled,  star- 
ing across  at  Blatherskite  in  a  somber  passion,  "and 
grooms  that  'orse  and  feeds  that  'orse  and  rides  'im, 
and  gets  to  like  'is  'orse,  and  the  'orse  tikes  to  'im, 
see?  And  some  blatherskiting — of  an  orficer  tikes 
thet  'orse  awi'  from  'im,  and  'e  bucks  stiff -legged — 
wot  I  says  is  hair  on  'im  I" 

I  might  'ave  'eard  much  more  about  that  'orse, 
but  Detective-Sergeant  Ithuriel  Fatty  McBugjuice 
( Damme  t)  flicked  me  as  he  passed  by  with  a  bath 
towel  (eh,  what?)  and  bade  me  come  for  a  swim  in 
the  blawsted  lake.  (Indeed,  ah  I)  As  he  had  taken 
oflf  his  serge  with  its  gold  badge  of  rank,  I  went  with 
him  in  the  evening  calm  to  bathe.  Afterward, 
Buckie's  official  duties  permitted  him  to  sit  with  me 
on  the  lake  shore  while  I  smoked. 

Above  the  mirror  lake  with  its  flaws  of  silver,  the 
dull  gold  hills  bore  scattered  firs  of  solemn  indigo, 
and  faint  in  the  gloaming  loomed  ranges  of  purple 
mist  edged  with  the  cold  blue  pallor  of  high  snow- 


<  i;l 


I  i 


324  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

fields.  There  floated  the  upper  pinnacles  of  the  Sel< 
kirks  against  the  afterglow.  And  one  by  one  white 
stars  came  out  on  guard. 

I  told  Buckie  that  I  intended  to  get  drunk.  He 
stiffly  advised  a  milder  line  of  conduct,  and  indeed 
milk  with  a  bun  would  have  proved  too  exciting  for 
Buckie's  indigestion  department  His  mother  had 
a  weekly  letter  from  him  to  say  that  he  wrote  in  the 
saddle,  at  the  summit  o^  the  Rockies  surrotmded  by 
hostile  redskins,  a  bloody  sword  in  one  hand,  a 
smoking  revolver  in  the  other.  These  letters  were 
unoflicial. 

"Lead  Kindly  Light,"  he  hummed.  "Lead  thou 
me  on."  The  mother  was  his  kindly  light — but 
mine  went  out  He  had  a  girl,  too,  who  fancied  him 
as  a  buck  angel,  whereas  I  suspeasd  the  prig  even 
as  corporal,  and  knew  he  would  be  an  insufferable 
sergeant 

I,  too,  had  been  in  love,  and  in  my  kit-bag  was  a 
photograph  album  of  all  the  girls  I  had  been  en- 
gaged to  mart  except  the  little  lot  which  got 
burned  in  Carlton.  I  had  tried  to  be  good  for  each 
of  these,  except  when  they  liked  me  bad,  and  even 
now  could  go  straight — with  occasional  side-steps — 
if  somebody  really  cared. 


A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER      235 

Buckie  swore  he  cared— but  what  he  really  cared 
for  was  to  be  sergeant-major. 

Brat  cared  for  me,  but  he  had  dumb  yearnings 
coming  on  at  the  time,  and  wrote  bosh  in  verse. 

Then  Buckie  suggested  that  my  people  loved  me, 
but  that  was  a  sore  point  with  an  ache  in  the  middle. 
My  fat  aunt  and  my  fat  uncle  had  lately  got  religion 
and  were  spending  Brat's  money  as  well  as  mine  on 
a  private  chapel,  a  stout  priest  and  that  family 
patron  of  oars,  the  excellent  San  Jiminy.  Him  they 
begged  to  use  his  influence  on  behalf  of  the  dear 
Brat  and  the  beloved  Blackguard  to  have  us  rescued 
from  the  sins  of  envj-,  covetousness  and  blasphemy 
—by  post,  to  get  us  delivered  from  the  alluring 
temptations  of  riches  in  a  wicked  world,  that  we 
might  inherit  the  family  pew  in  Paradise,  wear  the 
La  Mancha  halos,  and  twang  the  heirloom  harps. 
Their  son  would  bear  the  burden  of  our  earthly 
heritage. 

On  learning  these  things  I  wrote  to  Tita  saying 
that  Brat  and  I  were  so  robust  in  health  that  San 
Jiminy  must  surely  be  neglecting  the  family  prac- 
tise. Why  not  chuck  him  and  take  on  San  Diablo 
who  had  done  so  well  .or  Tito? 
Tita's  response  as  trustee  was  all  about  blasphemy, 


336  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

and  my  req.iest  for  statement  of  account  was  piously 
ignored.  Hence,  my  letter  to  our  Cousin  Isabella, 
begging  Her  Catholic  Majesty  to  revive  the  good  old 
Spanish  inquisition,  and  have  dear  Tita  fried. 

The  Queen  Regent  answered,  telling  me  not  to 
fuss,  and  sending  my  father's  jewel  of  the  Golden 
Fleece  which  she  bade  me  wear  as  a  remembrance. 
Of  course  I  was  being  fleeced,  not  that  Her  Majesty 
was  capable  of  a  joke  or  any  other  breach  of  eti- 
quette. I  wore  the  jewel  slung  on  a  slender  chain, 
and  because  the  diamonds  were  scratchy  against  my 
skin  was  making  it  a  little  buckskin  sack.  I  ex- 
plained to  Buckie  that  the  thing  was  a  popish  object 
used  for  idolatry.  That  shocked  him  all  to  pieces, 
for  Buckie  was  a  Prot. 

But  why,  he  pleaded,  should  I  get  drunk? 

I  threw  him  our  homely  Spanish  proverb,  that 
wine  is  the  tomb  of  memory,  but  it  was  no  use 
throwing  pearls  before  a  corporal.  He  could  not 
understand.  Nor  could  I  fully  understand  the  ach- 
ing of  my  heart,  the  bitter  pain. 

The  Blatherskite,  open-mouthed  and  shut-eyed 
as  any  hippopotamus,  had  sent  a  corporal  only  last 
week  to  ask  if  I  would  take  on  as  his  servant.  Now 
Sam  could  .claim  a  cadet  for  his  esquire,  but  in 


"A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER      237 

Blatherskite  it  was  most  infernal  cheek.  A  hippo, 
which  neglected  its  tooth-brush,  ate  its  beans  with  a 
knife— I  sent  it  word  that  it  might  kiss  my  socks. 
I  come  of  a  breed  trained  to  obedience  and  the  com- 
mand of  armies  from  the  days  when  Spaniards  con- 
quered and  ruled  the  world.  The  badge  of  the 
Golden  Fleece  was  mine  by  right,  and  to  stand  cov- 
ered before  the  kings  of  Spain,  my  peers.  But  Spain 
is  only  a  barren  little  country  with  a  scattering  on 
her  moorlands  of  poor  shepherds,  unable  to  hold  her 
own  among  the  rich  and  populous  nations  of  to-day. 
She  had  no  armadas  or  armies  left  for  her  conquis- 
tadors to  lead,  no  more  new  worlds  to  be  made  Chris- 
tian by  her  gallant  priests,  no  work  for  us  La  Man- 
chas  and  our  kinsmen.  But  robbed  of  our  heritage, 
and  driven  from  our  country,  the  Brat  and  I  were 
not  less  caballeros  than  our  fathers,  were  still  well 
able  to  earn  our  bread  and  wine  as  men-at-arms  un- 
til Spain  had  need  of  us.  A  knight  of  the  Golden 
Fleece  may  not  be  soldier-servant  to  any  sort  of 
hippopotamus.  And  the  wound  rankled.  So  I  would 
get  drunk  and  assault  the  guard. 

And  yet — the  words  came  somehow  from  the  air. 
"I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from  whence 
Cometh  my  help."    I  lifted  up  my  eyes  and  saw  the 


''^M 

^m 

1 

238  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Selkirk  Mountains,  range  on  range  dissolving  into 
night;  and  far  away  against  the  upper  snow-fields 
caught  a  faint  glint  as  from  some  fallen  star. 

"What's  that  light?"  asked  Buckie,  and  I  laughed. 
For  that  was  the  light  at  the  Throne  Mine,  where 
Loco  Burrows  lived  as  caretaker  in  charge.  The 
Burrows  woman  wrote  that  she  could  see  our  camp. 
I  was  to  address  my  letters  "Mrs.  Sarde,"  which 
sounded  more  important  'than  Miss  Burrows.  She 
wanted  me  to  call.  That  was  the  help  from  the  hills, 
and  I  laughed  out  loud,  jumping  to  my  feet.  Sup- 
pose the  woman  were  to  marry  me!  What  a  lark 
it  would  be  to  take  her  to  Madrid — ^to  the  dullest, 
stiflFest  court-of-frumps  in  Europe!  Enter  that  cat, 
and  see  the  mice  climb ! 

Then  I  heard  the  bugle  softly  crying, 

"Come  Home! 
Come  Home! 
The  long  day's  work  is  ended." 


I  stood  behind  Buckie,  my  hands  upon  his  shoul- 
ders rocking  him  backward  and  forward,  timing  him 
to  the  music  "That's  what  they  call  'Taps,' "  I  told 
him,  "down  yonder  in  the  states,  because  the  beer 
taps  close."     The  lovely  melody  was  cleaving  sky- 


A  SHIP  WITHOUT  A  RUDDER      239 

ward.  "'Ccmie  home,' it  says, 'come  home!'  It's  all 
deportment  and  sage  advice,  Buckie.  Where's  home, 
Buckie?  If  you  were  in  love  with  a  Blackfoot 
squaw,  would  you  turn  squaw-man,  Buckie?  Or 
would  you  play  with  a  respectable  white  pussie 
without  any  morals  or  manners,  and  try  to  forget 
about  love  ?  And  what's  the  use  of  being  good  when 
it  makes  you  a  misery,  eh,-  you  poor  chaffy  cor- 
poral? If  Christ  were  here  to  cast  out  devils,  I'd 
have  a  last  tuance  left,  instead  of  getting  drunk, 
and  assaulting  the  guards  as  a  pill  to  cure  me  of 
memory.  Now,  go  call  your  roll  and  report  me  pres- 
ent and  correct  as  usual.  You  can't  steer  a  ship 
which  has  no  rudder,  Buckie." 

He  left  me,  and  all  that  night  my  spirit  was 
by  the  lake  under  the  holy  stars.  As  to  what  be- 
came of  my  body — 


(    ■   \[\ 


CHAPTER  VIII 


MR.  RAMS 


"Women,  and  wine,  and  war. 

War,  and  wine,  and  love ! 
With  a  sword  to  wear  and  a  horse  to  ride 
And  a  wench  to  love — give  me  nought  beside. 
But  a  bottle  or  so  at  the  even-tide ! 

Women,  and  \yine,  and  war ! 

Women,  and  wine,  and  war. 

War,  and  wine,  and  love ! 
Oh,  war's  my  trade,  but  wine's  my  play. 
Wine  crowns  my  night,  and  war  my  day 
With  a  kiss  or  so  in  a  casual  way  1 

Women,  and  wine,  and  war ! 

Women,  and  wine,  and  war. 

War,  and  wine,  and  love ! 
Here's  a  broken  head  for  a  drunken  spree 
When  a  blue-eyed  wench  deserted  me  I 
Go,  lecture  the  hussy,  and  let  me  be ! 

Women,  and  wine,  and  war  1" 


i 


IF  Bandy  Jones  had  not  been  singing  Old  King 
Cole—ovLT  version — ^at  the  time,  my  song  would 
have  been  quite  the  success  of  the  evening.    All  the 
fellows  were  gathered  at  Mother  Darkie's  buck- 
board  a  mile  from  camp.    We  put  up  the  drinks  by 
440 


MR.  RAMS 


241 


turn  so  far  as  our  money  went,  and  the  liquor 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  delicate  blend  of  sulphuric 
acid,  fusel-oil  and  petrol  flavored  with  rattlesnake 
poison,  "Specially  imported,  Massa  Blackguard."  I 
tended  bar  with  an  arm  round  the  wicked  little  ne- 
gress,  proposing  to  her  at  intervals.  As  to  the  enter- 
tainment, Bandy  beat  a  bread  pan  and  howled  Indian 
war-songs  while  Tubby  Mclmerish  talked  about  an 
English  tenderfoot — name  o'  Rams — found  bushed 
at  Horsethief  Creek.  "Calls  me,  'me  good  man  haw,' 
"Yes,  me  deah  fellah,'  and  'How-d'ye-du-don't-y- 
know.'  Just  like  old  McBugjuice — more  side  than  a 
jumped-up  viceroy — and  the  crawler  wearing  putties 
and  a  helmet — bet  you  a  dollar  he  did,  then  shut 
yer  mouth — and  don't  yawp  as  if  I  was  measles 
and  you'd  caught  'em.  I'm  tellin'  yous  about  thish- 
yer  little  gawd-forbid,  which  I  brung  him  into  camp 
to  play  with  the  officers.  He's  improvin'  their 
minds  at  the  officers'  mess.  If  you  don't  believe  me 
you  can  see  his  wet  balloon-sleeved  pants  hung  by  the 
cook  fire,  arid  Rich  Mixed  eating  of  'em." 

Calamity  Smith  was  spouting  anarchism,  while 
Tribulation  le  Grandeur  told  us  about  his  mare,  shot 
at  Fort  Walsh  in  1876.  The  pair  made  a  sort  of 
duet :  "Abart  the  pore  workin'  man  'e  call  'im  ae 
abcess  gettin'  a  fair  ^how  vol  you  cdl  strangles. 


( 


243     THE  CHEERFXJL  BLACKGUARD 

heinf  I  say  fair  show  I  So  I  say  to  se  majof  Walsh 
Down  with  the  Queen!  /  say  and  let  her  take  in 
washing  says  I  she's  got  ee  strangles  all  she's  fit 
for!  Down  with  the  Government!  no!  no!  hoI  I 
no  shoot  my  mare!  and  lynch  thim  millionaires  I 
Sacre  nom  de — ^pore  workin'  man — ^long  live  an- 
archy! She  no  keek  any —  Down  with  everybody ! 
So  I  mak  shoot  my  fusil  and — and  vot  that  you  say 
about  Queen  Victoria,  'heinf  Pore  workin'  man — 
/  puil  your  nose,  so.  Yow !  You  traitor!  Ur-r-r. 
How  you  lak  me  keel  you,  heinf    Help!    Help!" 

"Time,  boys!  Time!"  yelled  Mutiny,  jammed  in 
between  these  soloists,  and  getting  killed  from  both 
sides. 

Enter  Rich  Mixed  with  the  English  tenderfoot's 
riding  breeches,  which  he  reverently  laid  at  my  feet. 
The  trio  between  Mutiny,  Tribulation  and  Calamity 
had  become  a  triangular  duel,  while  Bandy  Jones 
led  off  the  general  salute  with  hoo-hoo  band  ac- 
companiment on  Mother  Darkie's  kitchen  utensils. 


"Now  here  comesh  the  Ge-ne-ran  all  ve-num  and 

spleen. 
And  he  ridesh  like  a  sack,  with  a  string  round 

the  middle-oh. 
'S  head's  full  of  feathers,  an'  his  heart's  all  woe, 
So  'preshent'  while  the  band  plays  (hic)-shave 

the  Queen." 


MR.  RAMS 


243 


Are  we  condemned  ?  We  were  all  getting  beast- 
ly drunk  and  yet  I  would  not  have  you  denounce 
my  comrades.  Calamity  was  one  of  the  thirty 
men  who  arrested  Sitting  Bull's  victorious  army 
after  the  Custer  massacre,  and  handed  them  as 
prisoners  to  the  American  cavalry.  Tribulation 
arrested  a  cannibal  lunatic,  and  single-handed 
brought  him  seven  hundred  miles  through  the  north- 
em  forest  in  winter.  Spud  broke  a  world  record 
in  horsemanship,  riding  a  hundred  and  thirty-two 
miles  by  sunlight  of  one  sumnfer  day,  on  a  horse 
who  bucked  him  off  at  the  finish.  Mutiny  was  the 
very  greatest  of  all  our  teamsters.  McBugjuice  was 
seven  days  lost  after  a  blizzard,  but  won  through 
alive.  All  had  shared  in  heroic  work  for  the  state, 
and  all  alike  were  drunk.  All  lived  a  monastic  life, 
denied  the  society  of  women,  barred  from  every 
reasonable  amusement,  inured  to  privation  and  to 
self-denial.  They  belonged  to  a  phase  of  history  not 
to  be  measured  by  rule  of  thumb  moralities,  or 
judged  by  the  cheap  standards  of  cities,  where  men 
live  for  money,  are  plentiful  and  small. 

For  where  men  do  the  work  of  giants,  the  over- 
strain has  always  its  reaction,  and  if  they  can  not 
get  drunk  they  will  go  mad.  So  I  could  name  a 
dozen  of  our  best  men,  the  heroes  of  the  force  who 


'     'I 

.1    uf 


i   :   li 


m 


244  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

went  mad  and  shot  themselves.  The  drunken  times 
of  the  vikings,  the  conquistadors,  the  Elizabethans, 
the  British  conquerors,  the  American  pioneers  and 
those  of  Western  Canada,  are  ages  of  energy  and 
power,  of  genius  and  glory,  while  the  sober  epochs 
may  well  be  those  of  weakness,  fatigue,  decay. 

It  is  a  comfort  that  we  shall  not  be  judged  by 
Christians,  but  by  Christ,  with  the  Saviour's  large, 
merciful  understanding.  His  humorous  toleration 
and  sweet  charity,      i 

II 

Soldier  1  Soldier  I  where  are  your  breeches,  pray  ? 

Soldier!  Soldier!  Git  up  an'  dust! 
Where  the  deuce  have  yer  hidden  yer  brams  away.' 

Soldier!  Soldier!  Hustle  or  bust ! 
Busted  the  Bugler?    Send  him  to  Hawspital 

Can't  ye  shut  up  that  confounded  row  ? 
Show  a  leg,  and  no  damned  profanity- 
Get  up  an'  sweat  for  a  shillin'  a  day. 
Strident  brazen  reveille,  insulting  the  holy  calm 
of  dawn,  lifted  me  broad  awake.  The  moon-shadows 
were  running  to  cover  under  scented  firs,  the  air 
was  a  thin  white  ecstasy  of  perfume,  the  sky  a 
rhapsody  of  tremulous,  quickening  splendor.    The 
blue  devils  of  the  evening  had  run  to  cover.    Who 
had  such  friends  as  mine,  such  great-hearted  com- 
rades ?   What  other  trooper  in  the  world  was  secret- 


MR.  RAMS 


245 


ly  a  marquis,  knight  of  the  noblest  of  all  chivalric 
orders?  As  for  the  Burrows  woman,  let  the  wench 
go  hang! 

The  bugler,  crouched  by  the  guard  fire,  was  boil- 
ing his  morning  coffee.  The  picket,  riding  drowsily 
homeward,  were  driving  the  herd  to  the  horse  lines. 
From  all  the  tents  came  sleepy  execrations,  "Show 
a  leg  there!    Get  a  move  on!    Rise  and  shine,  you 
cripples!    Who  told  you  to  tread  on  my  face,  eh? 
Oh,  give  us  a  rest,  you  chaps — who  said  reveille  ?" 
"Dress!"  cried  the  bugle,  and  the  day's  procedure 
took  on  its  ordered  course  through  stables,  break- 
fast, fatigues,  guard  mounting — all  that  ritual  of 
the  service  which  has  for  soldiers  the  flavor  of  a 
religion.    The  bugle  calls  are  sacred  as  one  thinks  of 
the  "Reveille"  in  captured  Delhi  where  Nicholson 
sahib,  God  of  the  Sikhs  lay  dead,  of  "Parade"  on 
the  listing  deck  of  the  Birkenhead,  of  the  "General 
Salute"  as  Nelson  hoisted  his  flag  on  board  the 
Victory,  or  the  "Roll-call"  which  followed,  Bala- 
klava,  or  "Lights  Out!"  throbbing  through  stricken 
silence  on  the  field  of  Waterloo.    The  ritual,  famil- 
iar to  us  as  mass  to  monks,  gives  dignity  to  all  our 
humble  duties,  preparing  us  to  face  death  that  the 
state  may  live. 
That  morning  Buckie  put  me  under  arrest,  and 


346  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

the  call  for  "Defaulters"  found  me  howling  for  my 
solicitor.    When  any  unusual  outrage  had  occurred, 
I  was  always  arrested  on  general  principles.    This 
time,  when  I  appeared  before  the  officer  command- 
ing, I  learned  that  the  tent  occupied  by  a  certain 
Mr.  Rams,  a  civilian  guest,  had  been  invaded  during 
the  night  by  an  alleged  buffalo  bull.    Item,  the  said 
animal  bit  the  aforesaid  Rams  who  was  now  under 
surgical  treatment    It^.  said  buffalo  was  really  a 
sheep.   Item,  the  teeth  of  the  above-mentioned  sheep, 
being  examined,  showed  no  traces  either  of  blood  or 
trousers.    Item,  the  alleged  trousers  were  missing. 
Prisoner  being  charged  with  divers  crimes  worthy 
of  capital  punishment. 

I  briefly  outlined  an  alibi  with  regard  to  the  trou- 
sers. Hearing  that  one  Rams  was  detained  in  cus- 
tody, I  had  borrowed  the  cook's  lamb  and  introduced 
it  The  pair  appeared  to  have  fallen  out,  which 
was  no  affair  of  mine,  although  it  ought  to  interest 
naturalists.  I  hoped  that  Mr.  Rams  would  not 
occur  again  because  he  was  too  tempting. 
I  could  only  appeal  to  the  gravity  of  the  court 
Severely  reprimanded. 

So  I  went  back  to  my  tent,  and  when  Orderly-Cor- 
poral Buckie  followed  he  found  me  packing.  I 
told  him  I  should  resign,  but  even  then  he  kept  his 


MR.  RAMS 


947 


official  countenance.   Jolly  good  luck  for  me,  he  said, 
that  Sam  was  pleased  with  my  ax  work— averring 
it  lodced  like  the  gnawings  of  remorse.    As  to  the 
monstrous  cheek  of  my  defense— Sam  nearly  had 
an  apoplectic  fit    If  he  had  been  able  to  keep  his 
countenance  he  would  have  ordered  me  off  to  in- 
stant death.    As  it  was,  he  had  asked  the  sergeant- 
major  if  I  could  be  spared  for  three  days*  absence. 
Sergeant-major  said  he  could  spare  me  permanently, 
but  even  three  days'  rest  for  the  troop  would  be 
a  blessing.    So  I  was  to  saddle  Gentle  Annie,  and 
my  horse,  get  grub  for  two  from  the  cook  tent,  and 
four  feeds  of  grain  in  gunny  sacks;  then  to  report. 

What  for? 

"You're  to  escort  Mr.  Rams  to  the  Throne  Mine 
before  the  men  get  at  him." 

The  match  never  knows  how  great  a  fire  it  kin- 
dles. 

"Them  pants."  added  Buckie,  as  he  turned  away, 

"is  found." 

Ill 

In  EnglUh-speaking  books  and  plays  the  Spaniard 
is  a  villain,  and  comes  to  a  bad  end.    Same  here. 
But,  villain  as  I  am.  I  do  assure  you  that  none 


I    I  "J 


til 


I 


■  411 


348  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

of  your  saints  could  have  been  with  Mr.  Rams  for 
a  minute  without  the  loss  of  his  hala 

When  I  had  warned  him  that  Gentle  Annie's 
name  was  Satan,  I  held  her  head  while  he  tried  to 
mount  on  the  off  side  facing  her  tail.  She  meekly 
held  the  seat  of  his  riding  breeches  between  her 
clenched  teeth,  and  waited  to  see  what  would  happen. 
With  inexpressible  joy  the  troop  looked  on. 

"I  say,  bloomers  1'"  said  Mutiny,  "they're  pont- 
oons." 

"Bet  you  a  dollar,"  Bandy  growled,  "that  he's 

a  Roosian  spy." 

"Them  pants  is  a  checker-board  for  checker  toum- 
aminks,"  said  the  troop  cook. 

"Jn  pantibus  infidelium,"  quoth  an  unfrocked 
priest,  one  of  our  teamsters,  "requiescat  in  pantis. 
E  pantibus  cockalorum,  gorlia  in  pantissimus  Piccor 
diUiensis." 

For  a  half  a  mile  out  from  camp,  Mr.  Rams  was 
idioughtful,  then  in  the  most  sportsmanlike  manner 
called,  "I  say,  Blackguard—" 

"If  you  want  to  call  me,"  said  I  "just  whistle 
—~so. 

At  the  whistle,  my  dog  came  bounding  after  us. 
But  as  troop  dog  commanding  the  bobbery  pack 
in  camp  he  had  to  take  the  dinner  parade,  and  keep 


MR.  RAMS 


349 


proper  discipline.  Alas,  regardless  of  duty,  reckless 
of  consequences,  he  romped  ahead,  leading  my  pro- 
cession, for  once  forgetting  his  rank  and  dignity. 
The  most  exciting  smells  bobbed  up  all  round  him. 
"Rabbits!"  he  barked.  "Badger  1"  he  shrieked. 
"Oh,  snakes  I" 

"My  good  man,"  said  Rams  with  a  jolt,  determin- 
ed to  put  me  in  my  proper  place  as  a  common 
soldier.    "Two  days  ago  I'd  never  been  on  a  horse." 

"So  I  see." 

"If  this  was  the  city,  you'd  be  the  tenderfoot, 
scared  at  our  traffic.  What  the  hell  do  you  know 
about  me?  Whatever  you  think,  I'm  no  coward, 
facing  this  beastly  expedition." 

"All  alone,  too,"  said  I.  "Sure  sign  of  the 
throughbred.  No  nurse.  Now  if  you  picked  up 
my  dog  by  the  tail,  he  wouldn't  even  whimper." 

Rich  Mixed  had  no  tail,  riot  even  a  bud.  That 
member  had  lately  been  lost  in  mortal  combat. 

"Ought  to  be  in  a  dog's  home,"  said  Rams,  sur- 
veying the  patch  of  sealing-wax  which  marked  the 
site  of  the  departed  tail. 

I  said  I  should  be  incapable  of  any  such  outrage 
as  a  dog's  home.  "Hybrids  are  never  sent  to  dogs' 
homes." 

"Hybrid,  eh?    He  does  look  a  rum'un." 


2SO    THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"They're  frightfully  infe«i<JUI."  I  t&Id  him. 
"Rich  Mixed  is  m  hybrid  between  an  old  Billy-goat 
and  a  she-bear." 

"Impossible  I" 

"We  thought  so.  Billy-goat  was  snch  a  veiy  re- 
spectable dog." 

"Oh,  I  see,  a  dog." 

"Troop  dcg  at  Battleford." 

"But.ifashe-beai^" 

"She  was  the  bear  in  the  hymn,  and  her  name 
was  Gladly.  You  must  remember  Gladly  the  cross- 
eyed bear  in  the  hyma  That's  why  my  dog  has  such 
an  appalling  squint  Of  course,  though,  that's  only 
when  he's  cross.  Besides,  he  eats  bats,  and  so  con- 
tracts bad  habits." 

"Fine  day,"  said  Rams,  in  his  most  freezing  man- 
ner. 

"You  see,"  I  spoke  with  utter  sincerity,  "he  catch- 
es nocturnal  habits  from  eating  bats,  and  mixes  up 
the  nocturnal  habits  with  the  hibernating  bear  habits 
of  his  mother,  and  also  with  the  climbing  instincts 
iof  old  Billy-goat  who  used  to  mountaineer  on  the 
barrack  roofs.  Now  you  must  realize  that  you 
can't  be  a  nocturnal  hibernating  climbing  dog  es- 
pecially m  wmter.  He's  dismembered  by  his  pas- 
sions..   It  isn't  natural." 


MR.  RAMS 


•5« 


"Should  think  not,  indeed" 

"Makes  him  so  delicate.  Inflammation  of  the 
squetm,  you  know.  Hence  the  sealing-wax.  It 
sUys  on  better  than  sticking-pls ;.:.-.  He  eats  off 
the  plaster." 

Trotting  on  three  legs,  ears  c  tkel,  s^li-^:ng  r,  nh 
affection.  Rich  Mixed  enjoye.  !  jng  orai  •  ),  it 
now  he  heard  the  bugle  fr.r  aw;.y  r.«te  v.  ;.r)''ng 
out  "Officer's  wives,"  and  with  a  pan*;  <  f  remorse, 
knew  he'd  be  late  when  the  call  came,  "Lnv  ■  > '  God." 
He  bolted  to  his  duties. 

As  to  Rams,  at  the  risk  of  a  dangerous  fall,  he 
lighted  a  agar.  I  dismounted  to  stamp  out  the 
flame  from  his  dropped  match  in  the  grass,  then 
mounting  again  set  off  at  a  racking  trot,  which 
smashed  the  cigar  in  his  hand  and  left  the  remains 
smoldering  on  the  trail  Without  breaking  pace, 
I  swung  down,  trampled  the  sparks  and  vaulted 
back  to  watch  Rams  having  his  vital  organs  torn 
adrift  and  pounded  to  a  hagg-s  during  an  hour  of 
vengeance.  Never  again  would  he  smoke  selfishly, 
or  while  he  lived  would  drop  a  lighted  match.  But 
would  he  live? 

I  was  angty  at  losing  my  dinner,  and  being  sent 
to  Mrs.  Sarde's — into  temptation.  Worse  tl.an  that, 
the  presence  of  Rams  profaned  a  landscape  ineffably 


M  I 


I  I  ;:, 


253  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

pure  and  sacred  in  its  wild  beauty.  The  hot  air 
quivered  with  perfume  under  the  fir  trees  of  that 
open  forest,  the  birds  rang  out  ecstatic  little  songs, 
canaries  flaunted  their  topaz  from  tree  to  tree,  and 
humming-birds,  each  like  an  emerald  in  a  mist,  hov- 
ered among  the  flowers. 

We  Spaniards  make  an  art  of  living,  quick  in 
every  fiber  to  live,  to  love,  to  worship,  to  sin,  to  suf- 
fer; but,  alas,  so  maay  are  religious,  monks  and 
nuns  mewed  up  in  convents  instead  of  breeding 
children.  These  Anglo-Saxons  have  no  time  to  live, 
let  life  itself  drop  lost  out  of  their  grasping  hands 
because  they  are  sires  and  mothers  fending  for 
their  homes,  begetters  of  nations,  piling  wealth  on 
wealth,  ruling  the  sea,  taming  the  wilderness,  filling 
the  continents  with  their  endless,  meaningless  clamor 
for  more  and  more.  This  brutal  creature  I  rode  with 
could  see  timber  by  the  thousand  feet  per  acre,  real 
estate  by  sections  and  town  sites,  minerals  by  the 
ton,  the  horse-power  of  cataracts,  but  not  the  deli- 
cious valley,  the  aged  hills  bowed  with  their  weight 
of  years.  My  people  came  to  worship,  his  to  de- 
stroy. 

It  must  have  been  ninety-five  degrees  in  the  shade 
as  we  dropped  down  the  white  bluffs,  and  splashed 
across  the  Columbia  just  by  the  outlet  of  Lake  Wind- 


MR.  RAMS 


aS3 


ermere.  I  took  the  sandwiches  from  my  wallets,  and 
we  had  lunch  in  the  saddle,  walked  our  horses 
through  enchanted  woodlands  where  trotting  would 
seem  profane.  With  a  wiy  smile,  my  tenderfoot 
avowed  that  he  must  have  a  squeam  after  all.  It 
ached,^  he  said  mournfully.  "And  yet."  he  asked, 
"what's  the  usual  name  for  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  only  the  thing  you  get  squeamish  with," 
said  I.  "Among  my  mother's  people  they  cut  the 
Squaminosa  Invertibilis  in  infancy,  just  like  your 
doctors  cut  out  the  vermiform  appendix,  and  as  they 
do  the  killing  they  ought  to  know." 

He  gulped  the  bait.  "Your  mother's  people?" 
he  asked,  ard  offered  a  cigar,  which  I  declined  with 
thanks.  Havana  wrappers  covered  a  multitude  of 
wrong  'uns. 

"My  mother's  people?  Oh.  yes,"  I  remembered. 
"She's  from  the  New  Hebrides.  Married  my  father 
when  he  was  a  Methodist  missionary.  But  then  he 
took  to  preaching  against  the  black-birders,  slavers, 
you  know— so  the  traders  ran  him  out  He  was  fed 
up  with  the  missions,  anyway." 

Rams  was  hooked  good  and  hard,  so  I  played 
him. 

"If  only."  I  sighed,  "he  had  caught  the  mission 
schooner  1" 


ti 


r         i: 


111      II 


254  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


"What  happened?" 

"You  see,  it's  never  safe  in  canoes  along  the  New 
Guinea  coast.  Poor  father  was  caught,  and — ^well, 
I  can  just  remember  the  smell — cooking,  you  know." 

"Horrible I    But  you  escaped?" 

I  couldn't  really  convince  him  unless  I  owned  to 
that.  "Yes,  mother  and  I  escaped — swam  Torres 
Straits,  got  to  the  pearling  station  on  Thursday 
Island." 

He  swallowed  that  Uiirty-mile  swim,  not  to  men- 
tion sharks,  and  said  he  had  heard  a  lot  about 
Thursday  Island. 

I  thought  best  to  skip  the  island. 

"After  we  got  home,"  said  I,  "we  were  dread- 
fully poor.  Mother  had  a  perfectly  awful  time  in 
London,  starving.  Then  she  met  Madame  Tus- 
saud." 

"But  she  was  in  the  French  Revolution.  It  says 
so  in  the  guide-book." 

"Yes,  the  waxwork  business  went  to  her  son,  you 
remember,  and  this  was  the  grandson's  second  wife, 
I  think — a  perfect  angel,  anyway.  Mother  got  a 
job  as  charwoman  at  the  waxworks.  How  I  re- 
member sitting  in  a  comer  all  alone  behind  those 
weird  dead  figures  I  They  frightened  me  horribly  at 
first— in  the  dark,  you  know,  after  dosing  timc^ 


MR.  RAMS 


^SS 


and  mother  scrubbing  the  floor  down  in  the  Chamber 
of  Horrors." 
"Awful  place  that.    Scared  me." 
"In  short  frocks."  I  added  by  way  of  local  color. 
"I  was  only  five.  And  then  came  the  trouble— fingers 
missing  from  the  statues,  and  ears  and  things  from 
the  sit-down  figures.    The  management  found  out 
that  mother  was  a  Kanaka,  from  the  New  Hebrides. 
They  shoved  her  in  jail." 

"But,  why?" 

"And  mother  a  Methodist!"  I  wiped  my  eyes 
with  my  shirt-sleeve,  deeply  moved,  then  gulped, 
and  went  on  bravely.  "She'd  given  up  eating  such 
things,  but  there  it  was,  the  suspicion,  the  doubt- 
fingers  missing,  and  ears— and  the  nose  of  Marie 
Antionettc— the  highest  I  ever  reached.  You  see. 
it  wasn't  mother.  It  was  me.  It  was  hereditary." 
I  choked  back  a  sob.  "That's  why  my  name's 
Lemuncher." 

Rams  became  very  uneasy.  He  was  broke  dead 
gentle  to  ride  or  drive,  but  shied  at  cannibals. 

From  the  Columbia  crossing  up  Toby  Creek  to 
Paradise  Flat  we  climbed  about  fourteen  miles  and, 
scared  as  I  was  of  night  catching  us  on  that  dim 
trail  in  the  mountains,  our  horses  needed  rest.  We 
found  a  Mexican  packer  camped  with  his  bunch  of 


256  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

burros,  keen  for  a  gossip  in  Spanish,  insisting  that 
we  share  his  venison  stew.  I  slacked  cinches  and 
introduced  Mr.  Rams  to  "a  Kanaka  friend  from  the 
New  Hebrides." 

"But  fancy  Kanakas  here  I    What  next !" 

"Yes,"  I  confessed,  "a  lot  of  my  mother's  people 
settled  here  to  get  away  from  the  missionaries.  You 
see,  they  eat  salt,  and  it  spoils  their  flavor.  We'll 
stop  for  dinner  and  try  Kanaka  cooking." 

Mr.  Rams  was  at  his  second  helping  when  a  sud- 
den thought  drove  all  the  blood  from  his  clerkly  vis- 
age.   "What  food  is  this?"    he  gasped. 

"An  Indian  girl,"  I  told  him,  "dear  little  papoose 
our  friend  shot  yesterday." 

Rams  broke  for  the  woods. 

The  Mexican  warned  me  to  make  the  Throne 
Mine  by  daylight,  but  when  I  led  the  mare  to  my 
poor  tenderfoot  he  seemed  in  a  state  of  collapse. 
And  yet  I  tapped  the  manhood  which  underlies  the 
English  character,  for  ill  as  he  was,  and  believing  me 
to  be  a  thrice  confessed  cannibal,  insane  and  armed, 
he  faced  me  like  a  hero.  "Qear  out  I"  he  shouted, 
pointing  me  down  the  trail.  "I'll  walk  to  the 
Throne.    Gear  out  I" 

"I'm  to  deliver  you,"  said  I,  "in  good  repair,  and 
take  a  receipt  for  you." 


MR.  RAMS 


257 


His  sparring  attitude  was  in  quite  exceMent  form, 
but  I  told  him  to  lower  the  right  fist  just  an  inch,' 
and  wade  right  in  for  blood. 

The  blow  on  my  solar  plexus  made  me  reel,  but 
of  course  I  sttod  to  attention.  He  had  to  be  deliver- 
ed in  good  repair,  not  damaged,  at  the  Throne.  His 
second  made  my  nose  bleed. 

"Defend  yourself,"  he  howled,  and  poured  in  all 
he  had  until  his  breath  was  gone. 

"When  you're  done  being  peevish,"  said  I,  "we'll 
hit  the  trail." 

"I  don't  understand,"  answered  my  tenderfoot. 

"rhat's  the  trouble,"  said  I,  while  I  stanched 
my  now.  "You  don't  understand.  You  mount  on 
the  off-side,  drop  matches  to  set  the  country  all 
ablaze,  foul  the  stream  where  my  horse  drinks, 
believe  all  that  you're  told,  and  don't  know  venisoii 
from  human  flesh.  So  you  have  tantrums  like  a 
teething  baby." 

"Then  you're  not — a — " 

"Cannibal?    No.    But  you're  a  silly  ass." 

"Perhaps  you're  right,"  said  Rams,  as  I  hoisted 
him  into  the  saddle. 

Dense  forest  filled  Paradise  Canon  and  from  its 
head  a  switch-back  trail  climbed  up  the  flank  of  a 
gigantic  ridge.   Along  its  spine  we  climbed  for  many 


258  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

a  weary  mile  until  even  the  fflidsummer  length  bf 
the  day  began  to  fail  us  md  twilight  was  closing 
in. 

Ranu  talked  with  a  slight  twitching  of  his  large, 
seductively  uglv  ep,rs — ^the  kind  one  longs  to  stroke 
— and  a  faint  snufHe  of  the  nose,  pinched  red  by 
wearing  glasses,  which  lo<dced  quite  convivial.  He 
talked  down  to  me,  using  nice  simple  words  for  me 
to  understand  about  the  London  where  he  had  been 
warped.  This  London  of  his  was  not  my  glittering 
City  of  Joy,  and  it  was  quite  unlike  Red  Saunders' 
bleak  manufacturing  seaport.  It  was  the  London  of 
the  white  Babu  which  had  given  him  his  uneducated 
body,  his  trained  unquiet  mind,  and  his  opinions  to 
which  he  attached  no  end  of  importance,  giving  them 
plenty  of  air  and  exercise.  He  was  but  one  of 
millions  of  clerks  and  students  who  lived  in  suburbs, 
worked  in  offices.  They  improved  their  minds — 
poor  things— of  an  evening  at  enormous  universi- 
ties called  the  Polytechnics  where  they  make  prigs. 
They  spent  their  Saturday  afternoons  like  sportsmen 
watching  the  games  they  could  not  afford  to  play. 
On  their  direful  Sundays,  they  had  theu  souls  ex- 
orcised at  Bigotarian  chapels  contemplating  hell,  and 
they  cycled  or  walked  in  the  parks  to  give  the  girls 
a  treat 


MR.  RAMS  259 

Rams  senior  was  a  shiny  Baptist  millionaire  who 
had  bought  a  knighthood,  and  sat  in  the  Commons 
on  the  Liberal  side,  a  vegetarian,  anti-  most  things, 
and  pro-  everything  else,  with  no  nonsense  about 
him  or  any  Christian  mercy.    His  daughters  were 
frumps  on  all  sorts  of  committees,  his  sons  were 
slaves,  and  this  one  was  a  mining  engineer.  To-day 
he  rode  over  his  first  real  rock,  so  different  from  the 
cabinet  specimens,  to  see  his  first  real  mine,  not 
like  the  show-case  model.    The  swampy  slopes  of 
Alpine  flowers  told  him  nothing  about  the  jagged 
schists  underneath.    The  granite  spires  ahead  sent 
him  no  message  about  God's  ice-mills  out  of  then- 
purple  bloom  against  the  orange  sky. 

When  I  told  him  I  had  lots  of  relations  in  town, 
the  weary  man  flickered  up  to  this  last  expiring 
effort  as  he  asked  for  their  names,  and  where  they 
lived. 

"All  over  the-place,"  I  told  him.  "You  know 
them  by  their  coat-of-arms,  the  Medici  Arms— three 
golden  globes  and  a  side  door.    They  are  my  uncles." 

Poor  Ramsf 

"Look!"  I  shouted  as  some  small  animals  leaped 
across  the  trail.    "A  chiffon!" 

•'A  what?"    He  would  not  even  look. 

"A  chiffon.    It's  a  sort  of  four-legged  burrowing 


III 


a6o  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

bill  which  inhabits  mines.    We  must  be  near  the 
Throne." 

Black  clumps  of  torch-like  pines  scattered  down, 
far  down  a  s'ope  of  Alpine  flowers  on  which  we 
groped.  Alitad  was  a  spire  peak  of  pansy  bloom 
on  a  field  ot  :'-.c  snow  against  the  gloaming. 
Astern  and  -^  -itle  above  our  trail  a  small  log  cabin 
nestled  among  the  rocks,  and  a  candle  glowed  in  its 
doorway.  Then  ahead,  quite  near,  a  nook  of  the 
hillside  revealed  more  cabins  in  the  frosty  murk. 
A  lamp  gleamed  in  a  window,  to  guide  us  up  the 
rock  steps  and  fields  of  dusty  snow.  Here  was  the 
Throne. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  SACKIFICK 


OBSERV   ere  we  come  to  the  Throne  Mine, 
these  various  points  of  view : 

Mr.  Otto  Rams.  His  point  of  view  revealed  to 
him  a  stony  broke  inventor  by  the  name  of  Burrows, 
to  be  smoothly  cheated  out  of  certain  patents  for 
extracting  gold  from  rock.  This  was  a  perfectly 
legitimate  business  proposition. 

Doctor  Eliphalet  P.  Burrows,  alias  Loco.  His 
point  of  view  was  this:  that  after  thirty  years  of 
despairing  effort  he  had  discovered,  hooked,  played 
and  landed  an  important  mining  engineer  repre- 
senting capital,  in  whose  rays  he  was  now  prepared 
to  lie  on  his  back  with  all  four  paws  up  and  pant. 

Miss  Violet  Burrows,  alias  Sarde,  widlet.  Her 
point  of  view  was:  "Once  a  lady,  always  cautious." 
Miss  Violet  loved  herself,  which  is  the  true  economy 
of  the  heart.  She  had  the  sense  to  chuck  Joe  Cham- 
bers, cowboy  (four  hundred  eighty  dollars  a  year 
261 


& 


a62  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

and  board),  in  favor  of  Inspector  Sarde  (twelve 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  all  found,  and  a  social  po- 
sition). Since  the  one  died  and  the  other  cheated, 
she  had  a  ridiculous  tenderness  toward  a  common 
iwliceman  (two  hundred  thirty-seven  dollars  and 
twenty-five  cents,  a  year  at  awrent  rating,  less  fines, 
plus  board,  waster,  no  social  position).  Even  had 
she  known  about  my  marquisate,  that,  after  all,  was 
only  a  foreign  title,  old,  worn  out — a  mere  nothing 
compared  with  the  brand-new  knighthood  of  Sir 
Augustus  Rams  of  Gapham  Junction,  for  which  no 
less  than  fifty  thousand  dollars  had  just  been  paid, 
cash  down.  After  all,  business  is  business,  and 
money  talks. 

It  is  true  that  Joe,  Sarde,  Rams  &  Company 
were  sporadic  as  flies  to  a  spider,  whereas  I  was 
chronic.  It  is  true  that  the  American,  the  Canadian 
and  the  Englishman  were  insipid  compared  with  the 
Spaniard.  They  alighted  with  a  bang,  whereas  I  only 
hovered,  then  fluttered  off  to  toke  my  toll  elsewhere. 
In  my  broad  track,  I  left  the  women  bewildered  and 
rather  cress,  because  I  d'd  not  get  them  into  all 
the  trouble  they  wanted.  So  while  Miss  Violet's 
business  principles  would  always  devote  her  to  Rams 
in  business  hours,  her  relaxation  was  to  dream  of 


THE  SACRIFICE 


263 


me.  She  meant  to  marry  Rams,  but  feared  and 
hoped  I  would  run  away  with  her.  When  we  ar- 
rived, she  was  effusive  to  Rams,  and  cut  me.  She 
tumbled  aU  over  Rams  and  bored  him.  What  he 
wanted  was  supper,  and  that  right  early.  He  said 
80.  and  Uncle  Loco  bundled  her  into  the  kitchen.  So 
when  I  had  sUbled  Black  Prince  and  Gentle  Annie, 
I  found  Miss  Violet,  and  kissed  her  all  over  for 
a  matter  of  twenty  minutes,  while  the  coffee  boiled 
over,  the  bacon  went  to  cinders  and  the  beans  burn- 
ed—just good  enough  for  Rams. 

Loco  was  entertaining  quality  in  the  parlor,  and 
somehow  reminded  his  weary  guest  of  a  Clapham 
gent.  Old  Cheese,  who  always  treagled  his  trousers 
to  keep  off  mice. 

"As  an  original  inventor,"  said  Loco,  with  an  ele- 
vated manner  and  a  nasal  intonation,  tapping  his  cel- 
luloid dicky.  "I  share  the  glorious  fate  of  Galileo. 
Faraday,  and  John  Keeley  of  Philadelphia:  con- 
tempt, disparagement,  starvation— ah.  here  comes 
supper— while  we  live,  and  after  a  death  from  want 
—Let  me  help  you  to  beans.  Mr.  Ran»— the  com- 
memorative statue— and  some  bacon,  Mr.  Rams— 
the  applause  of  nations!  Ah,  I  see  you've  laid  two 
places,  Violet.     But  I  have  supped.     Humbly  but 


'.H 


11 


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MKaoCOfY   >IS01UTI0N   TBT  CHAIT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHAKT  No.  2) 


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2.0 


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1.8 


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/APPLIED  IIVHGE     Inc 

1653  East   Main  Strtat 

Rochester.  Nsw  York        14609      05A 

(716)  482  -0300 -Phone 

(716)   268-5989  -Fox 


264  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

sufficiently  I  have  supped.  Take  these  away.  Re- 
move these,  ray  dear." 

With  a  clatter  of  Mexican  spurs  on  the  floor,  I 
rolled  in  from  the  kitchen  for  my  supper. 

"Ah,  Constable,"  said  Loco,  "I  had — at  leas-t,  I 
guess  my  niece  reserved  some  supper  for  you  in  the 
kitchen." 

"I  only  looked  in.  Burrows,"  said  I,  "to  tell  Rams 
here  to  water  and  feed  the  horses.  I'm  spending  the 
night  with  friends." 

"Ah,  at  the  'Tough  Nut,'  "  Loco  beamed  with  re- 
lief.   "Most  welcome  there,  I'm  sure." 

His  bald  head,  as  he  sat  there,  was  quite  irresisti- 
ble, so  I  applied  a  spoonful  of  mustard  and  a  sprink- 
ling of  pepper  to  the  shiny  surface.  Then,  leaving 
the  three  freaks  to  their  entertainment,  I  went  out 
to  the  stable. 

In  a  sudden  passion  of  blind  rage.  Miss  Violet 
was  calling  her  uncle  a  damned  fool. 

So  having  gone  into  temptation  and  not  been 
tempted — ^which  really  was  disappointing — I  found 
I  was  not  engaged  to  marry  Miss  Burrows.  That 
was  all  right.  I  watered  and  fed  Black  Prince  and 
Gentle  Annie.  Then  gathering  both  blankets,  my 
doak  and  hardtack  for  my  supper,  I  turned  my 
back  on  Freak  House,  and  put  but  for  solitude. 


THE  SACRIFICE 


26s 


Rams  and  Miss  Violet  searched  for  me  long  and 
loud,  but  I  wanted  to  be  alone. 

Only  a  few  paces  beyond  the  cabins.  I  came  to  an 
edge  of  space.  Thousands  of  feet  beneath  lay  an 
abyss  of  clouds.  Near  by  on  the  left  the  Throne 
Glacier  made  its  broken  leap,  a  cataract  of  ice,  while 
on  my  right  the  clouded  gorge  of  Horsethief 
Creek,  with  murmur  of  distant  waters,  curved  away 
toward  the  Columbia  Valley.  There  I  could  see 
the  faint  lights  of  our  camp,  and  as  I  watched,  a 
thread  of  music,  delicate  as  some  blown  thread  of 
cobweb,  bade  me  "Come  home!  Come  home!" 
It  was  last  post. 

It  seemed  so  far  away,  that  life,  that  service,  up 
here  among  the  snowdrifts  and  the  rocks  of  frosty 
silver,  which  jnit  the  swinging  and  eternal  star- 
field.  Here  was  a  sanctuary  for  driven  souls,  where 
no  pursuing  evil  dared  to  come  near  me.  This 
glacier  was  surely  the  throne  of  our  Eternal  Father 
attended  by  mists  of  spirits,  hosts  of  stars  and 
presence  invisible  who,  with  a  sighing,  wind-like 
breath,  prayed  for  His  coming  to  judge,  to  save,  to 
pardon. 

I  ate  my  hardtack  with  a  curious  sense  that  this 
bread  was  sacramental,  lay  wrapped  in  my  cloak, 
awake  in  perfect  rest,  and  at  the  dawn  knelt  watch- 


tf  ftj  1 


a66  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

ing  for  the  sun,  until  the  Rocky  Mountains  were 
molten  at  the  edges  with  his  blinding  splendor. 


II 

Before  the  freaks  were  astir,  I  mounted  Blar!; 
Prince,  told  Gentle  Annie  to  come  along  or  starve, 
and  set  out  riding  in  company  with  health,  the  god 
who  lives  outdoors.  '  No  wholesome  lad  of  two- 
and-twenty.  well  armed  and  mounted,  in  the  glamour 
of  the  daybreak,  is  ever  so  unhappy  as  he  claims; 
but  still  the  toys  at  the  "Tough  Nut"  hailing  me  for 
breakfast,  relieved  a  gnawing  anxiety  below  my 
belts.  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  better  than  a  bull  flying. 
And  after  breakfast,  they  would  not  let  me  go, 
which  pleased  me.  I  had  a  day  to  spare.  I  learned 
also  that  frontiersmen  of  many  tribes  and  trades 
are  all  one  brotherhood— of  fools. 

"Of  course,"  as  Long  Shorty  told  me  after  break- 
fast, "poor  Loco  doesn't  count.  He  doesn't  belong 
to  our  ancient  Order  of  Fools,  who  follow  the 
tracks  of  wandering  St.  Paul.  Bobbie,  it's  your 
wash-up,  so  get  a  move  on.  Bobbie  and  I  take  turns 
at  muddling  things." 

The  prospector  coiled  his  legs  on  the  door-step, 
and  lighted  his  corn-cob  pipe.  "We  look  down,"  said 


THE  SACRIFICE 


267 


he  on  those  old  Spanish  miners  with  their  diricy 
addera.  buckets  instead  of  pumps,  and  mule  Aras- 
t«.  That's  the  way  Loco  jeers  at  our  fissure  veins. 
He  has  a  pair  of  rotary  fans,  which  get  up  a 
cyclone  between  them,  and  the  dust  in  that  cyclone 
W.11  tear  a  steel  crowbar  to  pieces,  yes.  to  dust  of 
steel.  Rock  shatters  to  dust  before  it  has  time  to 
drop  through. 

"Put  money  in  that  idea,  and  get  at  a  tangt  . 
n.om:tains  like  the  Sierra  Nevada,  which  runs  a  dol- 
lar a  ton  in  gold.  It  costs  us  two  -.rs  to  mine 
and  mill,  but  Loco  can  do  it  for  nin.  ,  cents.  He 
can  transmute  the  Sierra  Nevada  into  gold-^d  we 
prospectors  are  down  and  out  along  with  the  buf- 
faloes and  the  Indians.  We're  out  of  date,  says 
Loco." 

"Then  he's  a  genius?" 

"He's  a  fool.  His  fans  get  cut  to  powder.  When 
I  worked  for  him  last  winter.  I  offered— for  a  half 
interest— to  make  him  fans  which  wouldn't  get  cut 
to  pieces.  I  would  have  cased  the  fans  in  bott 
which  means  black  diamonds,  and  made  the  fool  a 
multi-bilHonaire.  Instead  of  that,  he  sacked  me 
Pity.  that.  I'd  have  been  halfH>wner  of  a  comer 
in  gold." 

"What  Vfpuld  yo^  dp?" 


m  li 

if 
i 


268  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Buy  mother  an  orchard  down  home  in  Nova 
Scotia.  Open  up  the  plains  for  a  nation— you  see, 
I'm  Canadian.  Buy  a  fleet,  and  station  it  on  the 
coast  of  China  to  meet  the  Yellow  Peril — you  see, 
I'm  British,  too.  I'd  buy  me  a  horse  like  that 
Black  Prince  of  yours,  and"— he  glanced  ruefully 
at  his  long  boots,  which  were  dropping  to  pieces — 
"yes,  and  a  new  pair  lof  boots— that  is,  if  the  cash 
held  out." 

We  looked  on  trailing  mist  wreaths,  combed  by 
the  torch-like  pines  at  timber  line.  "The  weather's 
going  to  change,"  said  Long  Shorty,  then  scrambled 
to  his  feet,  for  a  man  of  six-foot  five  must  have 
room  when  he  wants  to  yawn.  "Come,"  said  he, 
"help  me  to  point  some  drills." 

That  man  made  me  thoughtful. 

No  climb  is  too  high  for  an  ass  with  a  load  of 
gold — Rams,  for  example.  And  here  he  was  at  the 
top,  ready  to  my  hand,  so  tame  I  could  stroke  his 
long  seductive  ears. 

Now  an  ass-load  of  gold  was  merely  wasted  on 
Loco,  and  yet  it  might  be  useful  to  Long  Shorty 
and  Bobbie  Broach.  They  had  gone  to  work  in 
their  turuiel,  and  left  me  at  the  forge  to  sharpen 
drills.  Qose  by  among  the  spired  pines  was  their 
log  cabin,  with  its  mud  chimney,  while  an  extension 


THE  SAf  ^IFICE 


269 


oftheroofniadeapor  i„  front.  Beyond  that 
a  cutfng  in  the  hillside  gave  entry  to  the  tu  n  ' 
Whose  waste  reck  „,ade  a  terrace  heaped  with  1 
very  ore  a-gh'tter  in  the  sunshine.  The  place  w  s  1 
-  bea„t.f„,.  so  dignified,  so  aching  pL  T I 
-en  were  ,n  rag.,  and  Kving  on  half  rations,  yet 

Bobb.e  Broach  had  been  bom  in  a  .uddle  and  stay- 
ed there,  a  woman  had  muddled  Shorty's  life  for 
h.m,  but  both  of  them  lived  straight  in  a  confusing 
world.    I  wanted  to  be  their  friend. 

Rams,  of  his  own  accord,  came  out  for  a  walk 
expectmg  as  rich  men  will  to  patronize  the  poor' 
and  put  them  through  their  paces.     He  thought 

I  had  gone  back  to  camp,  did  not  expect  to  see 
Me. 

Come  here  "  salfl  T     "t  «*>. 

^-      Let  s  see  your  mouth." 
My  good   fellow— er— why?" 
"Teeth  still  all  right,  eh?     Or  did  Loco  steal 
tnem  ? 

He  grinned,  and  murmured  that  he  knew  his 
business. 

I  said  I  knew  more  about  mining  than  a  Fribure 
expert.  * 

He  told  me  huffily  that  he  had  graduated  at  Fri- 
owg,  the  greatest  mining  school. 


E'E         ! 


270     THE  CHEERFU',  BLACKGUARD 

I  pointed  to  the  tunnel.    "Isn't  that  the  best  min- 
ing school  ?" 

He  scoffed  at  ignorant  prospectors,  then  sat  down 
on  a  log  in  the  forge,  with  me  beside  him.    "They'll 
ask  you  to  dinner  presently,"  said  \.     "Don't  be 
unkind  to  them.    Pretend  to  be  genial— but  make 
them  keep  their  distance.    Mention  your  rich  rela- 
tions.   Trot  out  the  dear  Duchess  of  Clapham  Junc- 
tion.   They'll  be  frightfully  impressed.    At  dinner, 
tell  them  how  much  better  food  you've  been  used 
to,  and  ask  them  how  much  there's  to  pay.    We  of 
the  lower  classes  love  being  patronized.    So  good 
for  us." 
"You  think  I'm  sudi  an  infernal  cad?" 
"Why,  Rams,  you've  been  wondering  if  you  ought 
to  tip  me." 
He  flushed  at  that 

A  chipmunk,  proud  of  his  gaily  striped  fur  coat, 
was  showing  off  on  the  anvil    "Cheep?"  said  he 
disdainfully. 
"Cheep,"  said  I,  to  pass  the  time  of  day. 
"Cheep!"    Polite,  but  hurried,  he  found  just  time 
to  curl  his  dainty  tail  up  his  furry  back  to  please  me. 
"Cheep!    Cheep!"  said  I,  and  he  scampered  up 
my  boot-leg  expecting  lunch. 
^•HoVs  the  nut  t»ii5i»«s8,  ch,  Cheep?" 


THE  SACRIFICE 


371 


"Oh.  if  that's  all  I"   He  Kampered  back  to  the  aii- 
vil,  then  turned  and  swore  at  me. 

The  distant  clang  of  a  hammer  now  noticeably 
ceased,  and  Broach,  a  muddy  little  man  with  a  putty 
face,  came  out  from  the  tunnel,  crossed  to  the  shack 
and  went  in.  Presently  there  was  dinner  smoke  at 
the  chimney,  while  from  the  tunnel  came  fainter 
sounds  of  tapping,  then  thumping,  then  silence,  and 
Shorty  came  running  out.  A  volley  of  stones  came 
flying  after  him,  the  hillside  quivered,  and  smoke 
poured  from  the  tunnel. 

Rams  had  picked  up  a  thick,  short  yellow  stick 
like  barley  sugar  with  the  feel  of  wax. 

"Give  that  to  me,"  said  I  in  a  sharp  whisper. 

But  he  was  sulky. 

"Put  that  down,"  said  I,  "it's  dynamite  1" 

I  grabbed  too  late.  Rams  had  thrown  the  stick 
at  my  chipmunk,  and  it  whirled,  spinning  over 
and  over  until  it  struck  the  anvil. 

A  red  flower  seemed  to  bud  there,  which  grew  to 
a  giant  blossom,  filling  the  world. 


iii 


A  pain  in  my  right  thigh  pulled  me  awake,  to  find 
myself  on  a  bunk  inside  the  shack.  Shorty  was 
cooking  by  stove-light,  while  wisps  of  red  smoke 
toiled  round  hb  lanky  frame,  and  rain  thrashed  the 


27a  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

roof.    The  wind  leaped  at  the  cabin,  roaring  like  a 
beast. 

"Rams  killed?"  I  ask. 

"We  set  a  broken  arm,"  he  said,  "and  packed  him 
to  the  Throne.    How  do  you  feel?" 

"Dunno.  Surprised,  I  think.  Where's  Broach?" 
"Taken  your  horses  down  to  your  camp.  He'll 
bring  up  grub,  and  a  doctor.  Here's  some  coffee." 
I  found  that  my  thigh  was  snapped,  a  simple  frac- 
ture which  my  friends  had  set  and  splinted  without 
disturbing  me.  My  skull  was  bruised,  too,  and  I 
did  not  feel  really  well  when  Shcty  lifted  me  up 
to  pve  me  coffee. 

Then  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk  with  his  own 
tin  cup.  "I  guess,"  he  said,  "that  tenderfoot  was 
careless." 

"Threw  dynamite  at  a  chipmunk." 
"There's  a  hole,"  said  Shorty,  "where  we  had  our 
forge." 

"How  much  will  that  cost  Rams?" 
"Don't  know  yet.  It's  our  first  capitalist,  so  it's 
lucky  it  wasn't  put  out  of  business,  eh?  That  arm 
should  tie  it  down  six  weeks,  while  we  sell  it  wild- 
cats. We've  got  a  dandy  bunch  of  wild-cat  claiws, 
and  they  might  cost  a  Friburg  expert—" 
"He's  that." 


THE  SACRIFICE  273 

"Say  fifty  thousand  do"  ,rs.     Thanks,  old  man 
We're  grateful." 


Ill 

My  bloou  came  by  inheritance,  my  vices  by  con- 
tagion.    My  blood  was  wholesome,  healing  me  rapid- 
ly from  the  start,  and  as  to  contagion  of  vice,  or  any 
kmd  of  foulness,  there  really  was  no  room  in  that 
little  shack.    I  do  believe  most  heartily  that  unhappy 
people  infect  their  homes  with  selfishness,  nagging, 
peevishness,    rancor,    melancholia,   murder,    which 
like  the  microbes  of  disease,  are  living  evils,  the 
devils  which  our  Lord  Christ  found  such  sport  in 
hunting.    But  where  Shorty  and  Broach  kept  house 
there  was  only  room  for  fairies,  and  they  swarmed. 
I  k-now,  because  fairies  are  so  exactly  like  children 
in  the  way  they  love  noise  and  mess.    Think  how 
delighted  they  are  in  hiding  things  which  humans 
leave  lying  about!    Th.se  prospectors,  for  instance, 
had  mislaid  everything  they  had  not  reaiiy  losf 

But  if  fairies  are  merely  untidy,  squirrels  are  dis- 
solute. A  pair  of  them  lived  in  the  roof,  who  kept 
a  squirrel  maid  to  help  them  scatter  flour,  nuts  and 
cinders.  She  had  lost  an  eye,  and  nevr  threw  any- 
thing straight. 


274  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Besides  these  people,  I  had  visitors,  beginning 
with  Sergeant  Gathercole,  an  ex-vet.,  a  nice  chap, 
and  a  temperate  man  when  sober.  He  had  a  charm- 
ing habit,  I  remember,  during  meal  times  of  combing 
out  his  tawny  mustache  with  his  fork.  Gathercole 
came  with  a  pack-horse  load  of  government  grub, 
a  proper  splint  and  bandages  which  made  me  com- 
fortable, and  any  amount  of  advice,  messages,  even 
presents  from  fellows  I  disliked.  The  troop,  he  told 
me,  was  leaving  for  Wild  Horse  Creek,  but  Black 
Prince  was  to  stay  with  our  Windermere  detach- 
ment, and  I  could  send  down  for  him  when  I  was 

fit  for  duty. 

For  the  first  fortnight,  I  had  only  occasional  news 
of  the  three  freaks  up  at  the  Throne.    They  lived  in 
the  douda,  believing  that  they  held  the  mighty  secret 
by  which  whole  mountain  ranges  could  be  milled  for 
gold.   They  dreamed  of  wealth  beyond  imagination, 
and  carried  themselves  like  demigods— at  first. 
,    Then  at  our  shack  there  arrived,  with  pomp  and 
circumstances.  Doctor  Eliphalet  Burrows  impress- 
ively arrayed  in  a  silk  hat,  frock  suit  and  nice  brown 
shoes.    Some  one  had  told  him  long  ago  that  his 
voice  was  resonant,  so  he  did  cultivate  the  same,  pro- 
ducing it  like  a  bull  frog  from  his  thin  hind  legs.  Ac- 
cording to  his  niece,  Mrs.  Sarde,  he  had  a  most 


THE  SACRIFICE  375 

charming  wniJe,  ,nd  this.  too.  he  used  at  random. 
Indeed,  he  was  so  mellow  and  rotund,  so  large  and 
resonant,  that  one  might  safely  compare  him  with  a 
drum— played  by  Mistress  Violet. 

He  comrasted  my  trivial  injuries  with  the  grave 
.condition  of  his  esteemed  friend  Rams,  who  had  sus- 
Umed  an  oblique  fracture  of  the  humerus,  whereas 
I  had  only  a  mere  broken  thigh-bone.  The  rich 
man's  finer  nature,  so  delicately  strung,  made  h.m 
most  exquisitely  susceptible  to  pain. 

Next,  Loco  proceeded  to  find  hi     elf  in  a  most 
embarrassin8--ahem-situation.   being  suah  that 
notwithstanding  the  expressed  wish  of  his  de-h 
niece,  I  would  not  permit  him  to  discuss  that  unf. , 
tunate  comretemps  which  had  attended  my  visit  xo 
his  humble— ahem— abode. 
I  told  him  that  mustard  made  the  hair  grow. 
Charmed  as  he  had  been  to  receive  as  his  honored 
guest  the  distinguished  English  mining  engineer 
his  deah  friend  Rams,  a  six  weeks'  visit  was  more 
than  he  deserved.    The  fact  was  that,  to  be  perfecUy 
frank,  provisions  were  running-ahem-and  he  re- 
garded with  concern  an  impending  inconvenience  to 
his  Illustrious  guest.    Now  he  was  given  to  m,der- 
stand  that  the  authorities  had  placed  at  my  disposal 
a  pack-horse  load  of-ahem-ahem-  To  be  pre- 


276  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

cise,  did  I  think  that,  under  the  peculiar — ^ahem— 
which  had  arisen  through  my  misunderstanding 
the — er — nature  and  uses  of  dynamite,  I  should  be 
— ahem— disposed,  et  cetera  ? 

I  told  him  I'd  see  him  damned  first,  and  he  said 
he  would  pray  for  me  on  his  way  home. 

It  is  the  nature  of  women  to  disdain  those  who 
love  them,  and  to  love  those  who  abhor  them.  I 
loved  all  women,  so  Mistress  Violet,  knowing  she 
ovirned  me  anyway,  could  not  be  bothered  to  call 
until  I  had  been  about  a  month  in  bed.  The  good 
hope  of  catching  Rams  was  better  than  the  poor  pos- 
session of  her  Blackguard,  so  when  she  came  at  last 
it  was  on  business,  without  the  least  pretense  to  senti- 
ment. I  had  pretty  well  cured  her  of  trying  that 
on  me. 

"I  just  got,"  she  explained,  "to  marry  Rams,  and 
that's  all  there  is  about  it.  I've  come  to  sit  with  you 
all  the  time  now  to  make  him  jealous." 

"I  understand,"  said  I,  "the  watched  pot  never 
boils." 

"I  got  him  bubbling  once  or  twice,"  she  giggled. 

At  an  elevation  of  eight  thousand  feet,  water  will 
boil  without  being  hot  enough  to  cook  an  egg.  So 
on  this  moimtain  top.  Rams'  bubbling  point  was  a 
long  way  short  of  a  grand  passion.    "Worms  ain't 


THE  SACRIFICE  ^„ 

more  slippery."  said  Mistress  Violet.    "After  all  we 
done,  too." 

Loco's  festal  apparel  and  brown  shoes,  her  own 
frocks-of  the  kind  which  shriek  to  heaven,  and  a 
heap  of  household  linen,  had  aU  been  bought  on 
cred,t  to  astonish  Ran,s.  "As  to  provision^«y, 
Sassl  Jells!  Egg-powders!  Apple-butter!  Tomay- 
to.s!    Pait-defore-grassI    We  ran  our  face  for  the 

"But  when  Rams  actually  came,"  said  I,  "  he  got 
burnt  beans,  and  sow-belly  done  to  cinders." 

"Whose  fault  was  that?"  she  bridled.  "Besides 
he  put  off  coming,  until  he  arrived  with  a  bang  and 
we  weren't  even  dressed.  We'd  been  wearing  store 
clothes  for  a  month-and  there  was  me  caught  with 
my  bangs  in  curling-irons." 

'Still,  Rams  is  in  clover  now." 

"That's  all  you  know.    We  got  a  house  full  of 

fancy  groceries,  but  no  grub.    And  would  you  be- 

heve  ,t-when  I  sent  Loco  down  for  beans,  flour  and 

^acon,  the  trader  at  Windermere  wanted  him  to  pay 

"The  wretch!" 

"And  now,"  she  culminated,  "it's  up  to  you  to  lend 
me  fifty  dollars." 
I  saw  no  fun  for  me  in  feeding  beans  to  Rams. 


M' 


i 


1':     ' 

..  I      ' 

f  :J  i 

278  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Besides,  my  two  hundred  nice  little  dollars  felt  so 
snug  in  my  hind  pocket    They  stayed  there,  too. 

I  was  a  very  acrobat  on  my  crutches,  before  the 
quality  at  Freak  House  bestowed  another  visit.  This 
time,  my  caller  was  Rams,  in  a  state  of  panic. 

"I  may  have  dallied,"  so  began  his  plaint,  "but 
not  philandered.  Believe  me,  I  never.  Once,  of 
course,  I  chucked  her  under  the  chin,  and  when  she 
said  that  pimples  on  the  neck  could  be  kissed  away — 
of  course !  But  it  never  went  so  far  as  a  hint,  much 
less  a  suggestion." 

"Then,  why  this  fuss?" 

It  appeared  that  Loco,  who  had  tact  enough  to 
stampede  a  locomotive,  wanted  to  know  the  inten- 
tions of  his  deah  young  friend  with  regard  to  his 
— ahem — ^niece. 

The  American  heavy  father,  especially  when  he 
happens  to  be  the  heavy  uncle,  can  be  frightfully 
impressive  on  that  subject.  Rams,  too,  had  been 
reading  Wild  West  in  his  leisure  moments,  and, 
as  everybody  knows,  the  denizens  of  that  region  in- 
variably shoot  In  Rams'  dilated  vision.  Loco  Bur- 
rows was  a  westerner,  a  frontiersman,  with  symp- 
toms of  desperado  and  a  gun. 

"Asked  me,"  the  Englishman  groaned,  "if  my  in- 
tentions were  honorable.    As  if  I  had  intentions  I 


THE  SACRIFICE 


Why.  my  dear  fellow,  strictly  on  the  q.  t,  she's 
lower  middle  class  I" 

"You  don't  say  so?" 

"Fact  My  father.  Sir  Augustus,  you  know,  will 
cut  me  oflf  with  a  bob.  Still.  I  didn't  want  to  be 
shot." 

"So  you're  engaged?    A  thousand  felicitations!" 
Rams  fled. 

But  then  he  came  back  next  day  in  a  dreadful 
state  of  mind,  bearing  an  old  number  of  the  Macleod 
Gazette,  with  mention  in  it  of  Inspector  Sarde.  "We 
have  much  pleasure  in  announcing  that  the  popular 
mspector  is  coming  back  to  our  district  Are  we 
to  be  introduced  to  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Sarde  we 
heard  so  much  of?" 

On  being  confronted  with  this  damning  text,  the 
lady  had  explained  with  tears  that  she  was  not 
exartly  a  widow,  because  her  late  husband  was  liv- 
ing, and  had  never  married  her. 

V/hereat  Rams  flew  in  a  passion,  broke  his  collar 
stud,  and  with  one  end  of  his  collar  pointing  out  the 
sun.  "said  a  few  words."  I  fancy  he  used  language. 
What  an  escape !"  he  said.  "Suppose  I'd  married 
her!  Why.  oh.  why.  should  these  awful  people  be 
trying  to  hound  me  into  a  marriage?  There's  some- 
thing fishy.    IsmeUarat    I'm  not  such  a  fool  as 


I 

If  I 


f 

ft 


28o  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


I  look — ^not  by  a  long  chalk.  If  this  invention  is  all 
right,  why  should  they — ?  I'm  off." 

Suspicious  of  anything  fishy  which  smelt  of  rats, 
he  went  muttering  homeward.  "Have  another  go  at 
Loco's  estimates — tampered — suppose— damned — 
m'n-m-u. — " 

The  clouds  were  trailing  along  the  hill,  and  a  fine 
rain  washed  the  autumn  foliage  into  a  riot  of  orange, 
flame,  lemon  and'  soft  amber,  melting  into  fog 
against  green  gloom  of  timber,  and  its  deep  blue 
glades.  I  was  alone  since  early  yesterday,  for 
Broach  had  taken  his  toothache  down  to  the  Winder- 
mere blacksmith,  and  Long  Shorty  had  gone  with 
him  for  a  load  of  stores.  I  redded  the  cabin  tidy, 
baked  a  batch  of  bread,  made  dinner  and  my  siesta, 
then  sewed  a  pink  seat  to  Shorty's  blue  overalls, 
while  the  rain  changed  to  sleet,  the  sleet  to  snow, 
and  a  young  storm  woke  to  howls  as  the  dusk  deep- 
ened into  a  horrid  night.  Then  the  prospectors 
came  home  with  my  horse  and  an  official  If'^er.  I 
had  orders  to  attach  all  property  of  Eliphalet  Par- 
doe  Burrows  for  debt,  and  to  arrest  him  on  a  charge 
of  issuing  fraudulent  checks.  But  morning  would 
be  the  proper  time  for  that,  and  meanwhile  there 
was  supper  to  cook  for  weary  nen. 

And  all  this  time  there  was  an  argument  proceed- 


THE  SACRIFICE  281 

ingit  the  TTirone.    With  an  unlimited  capacity  for 
foolmg  himself,  and  none  for  fooling  others,  the 
mventor  had  made  false  estimates  of  his  great  in- 
vention, and  Rams,  with  the  quivering  nostrils  of 
suspicion,  at  last  had  found  him  out.    Here  were 
round  numbers  rather  than  square  facts,  and  pretty 
httle  improvements  of  dull  assays,  a  few  naughts 
cocked  on  to  tiresome  statistics,  and  quite  a  dainty 
cookery  of  accounts.    So  Rams  was  shocked  to  the 
Boul  at  finding  bigger  rascals  than  himself,  denounc- 
ing Loco  for  swind'lng.  forgery  and  fraud,  accusing 
Mistress  Violet  of  attempted  bigamy  and  blackmail. 
Both  said  exactly  what  they  thought  of  Rams,  but 
Mistress  Violet  began  first,  said  most,  continued 
longest  and  had  the  best  of  it.    From  noon  to  mid- 
night,  she  made  a  general  confession  of  the  young 
man's  imperfections,  and  the  depravity  of  English- 
men,  denounced  her  Uncle  Loco  and  bewailed  her 
fate.    And  then  the  trouble  began  for  the  two  men. 
having  made  common  cause  against  the  lady,  fell 
out  between  themselves.    They  got  in  a  passion,  and 
threw  things,  including  the  lamp,  which  set  the 
whole  place  in  flames.    So  while  the  woman  stood 
outside  wanning  herself  by  that  fire,  and  wearying 
the  very  skies  with  her  indignation,  the  men,  driven 
to  Ignominious  flight,  set  out  upon  the  trail  snarling 


?a  ill 

.m  ill 
If 


f 


382  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

at  each  other  like  two  dogs.  Had  they  come  to  me, 
I  should  have  tied  them  together  and  watched  the 
fun,  but  they  ignored  my  presence  at  the  "Tough 
Nut,"  and  went  on  to  lay  their  demands  for  justice 
before  the  sergeant  in  charge  at  Windermere. 

The  sky  was  clearing  then,  and  the  moon  rose  on 
silver  waves  of  Alps  and  deep  blue  troughs  between, 
along  the  stormy  ranges  which  crown  the  continent. 

And  there  the  wqman,  who  had  no  further  use  for 
Loco  or  any  hope  from  Rams,  was  left  among  black 
ruins  on  the  mountainside,  abandoned.  When  a 
selfish  soul  has  nothing  left  but  self,  then  loneliness 
is  tragic.  Like  ivy  torn  from  a  wall,  this  creature 
had  nothing  left  to  cling  to,  no  strength  to  stand 
alone.  The  bitter  dawn  wind  swept  the  last  sparks 
from  her  burned  world,  and  the  raw  chill  snatched 
all  her  warmth  away.    So  she  lay  moaning. 

W 

Down  at  the  "Tough  Nut"  cabin,  we  slept  SOtmdly, 
having  seen  nothing  but  the  driving  snow,  heard 
nothing  but  the  storm.  But  as  the  dawn  light 
roused  me  I  remembered  that  the  Throne  cabins 
must  be  seized  for  deb^  and  Loco  taken  down  to 
Windermere,  for  which  there  would  be  scarcely  time 


THE  SACRIFICE 


383 

«  the  brief  autunm  day.  So  without  disturbing 
my  f nends  I  brewed  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  nude  Z 
way  on  prutche,  to  the  stable  behind  the  cabin  I 
.addled  Black  Prince,  climbed  to  his  back  and"od 

nicks  of  Ran«  and  Loco  bound  for  Windermere.    1 
found  the  Throne  cabins  a  heap  of  smoldering 

^^h.ch  had  been  the  door-steplay  that  poor 

tnlf  J  "^u"** '"'  **  '=°'"P'*'*  ""■««  than  usual  I 
^  her  that  the  moans  and  wriggles  completely 
spoiled  her  performance  as  a  swooning  lady.  She 
wanted  to  play  at  abandoned  heroine,  but  I  w«  , 

eaHoo  cold  and  hung^  for  heroics,  and  toMhe 
pretty  roughly  to  shut  up.    Then  she  thought  thi 

he'r  r^T"^'  ^-^«  ^<^^  with  the  4h  I 
h- bndle.  forgetting  that  real  paladins  never  have 
8-ele^.  I  told  her  that  the  walk  would  dob" 
good,  and  a  mile  of  floundering  through  drifts  ce 
_^nly  wanned  the  cat.  By  the  time  w!  reached! 
Tough  Nut"  she  was  hung,y.  and  after  breakf„I 
purred,  makmg  eyes  at  the  prospectors,  although  for 
a  sohd  year  they  had  been  beneath  her  notice. 

^,11  ^1""'''  ^'"  '"'  ***  "''P  "y  W^nJ*  to  the 
Wcalthofthatgildedass.poorcrookedRams!   The 


284  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

time  had  come  for  parting  with  Shorty  and  Bobbie 
Broach,  and  they  refused  to  snare  the  little  wad  in 
my  pocket  They  lent  and  saddled  their  pony  for 
the  woman,  and  when  Black  Prince  had  finished  his 
breakfast  we  had  to  hit  the  trail. 

There  was  plenty  for  me  to  think  about  on  that 
long  day's  march  to  Windermere.  Loco  was  on  his 
way  to  a  term  of  imprisonment,  and  when  he  came 
back  his  employer?  would  not  be  pleased  with  his 
excessive  zeal  as  their  caretaker  at  the  Throne. 
Rams,  of  course,  would  go  home  to  his  native  land, 
where  there  are  more  fools  to  be  cheated  than  in  any 
other  country  of  equal  size. 

And  this  woman  was  left  on  my  hands.  What 
could  I  do  with  her?  She  had  no  relatives,  had 
earned  no  friends,  and  could  not  find  employment 
where  there  were  no  employers,  and  she  was  desti- 
tute, many  hundreds  of  miles  out  in  the  wilderness. 
Had  I  been  wise,  I  should  no  doubt  have  given  her 
the  couple  of  hundred  dollars  in  my  pocket  to  pay 
her  way  to  the  settlements,  and  there  make  a  fresh 
start  in  life.  Had  I  been  wise— but,  then,  I  doubt  if 
any  really  and  truly  wise  man  would  have  much  of  a 
story  to  tell  in  making  a  chronicle  of  his  life.  Had 
I  been  altogether  a  bad  man,  I  should  have  used  this 
woman  committed  to  my  mercy,  had  her  as  mistress 


THE  SACRIFICE 


!1 


aSs 


until  her  tongue  galled,  then  turned  her  loose,  the 
worse  for  havi.,g  known  me,  to  take  the  one  trail 
open  to  her  talents.  But  had  I  been  altogether  bad- 
should  I  confess  my  errors  in  a  book? 

Perhaps  there  were  other  ways  of  dealing  with 
th.s  affair,  but  at  the  age  of  twenty-three.  I  lacked 
the  experience  which  makes  all  things  clear  to  the 
reader.  I  could  see  but  one  way  consistent  with  de- 
cency and  my  honor.  And  all  the  way  from  the 
Throne  to  Windermere,  and  through  the  day's 
march  from  there  to  Canal  Flats,  and  all  the  weary 
trail  from  thence  to  the  mission.  I  saw  no  other 
course  but  that  of  marriage. 

The  three  years  since  first  we  met  in  the  train  at 
Winnipeg  had  enlarged  the  girl  into  womanhood, 
the  slattern  into  a  housewife.    Shallow  she  was  in- 
nately vulgar,  with  no  heart,  no  morals,  and  no 
mind;  but  by  this  time  she  had  learned  enough  to 
wash,  to  mind  her  manners,  restrain  a  shrill  un- 
pleasant  voice,  limit  her  temper  to  only  occasional 
field  days,  and  turn  her  increase  of  beauty  to  ac- 
count in  the  ruling  of  men.    To  this  young  animal 
was  given  hair  as  glorious  as  the  sunshine,  a  skin 
I'ke  transparent  milk,  suffused  with  the  glow  of 
peaches,  and  covered  with  a  bloom  most  rare  and 
lovely,  eyes  very  changeful  and  bewildering  health 


t:  ! 


I 

i 
3ti    ! 


386    THE  CHEERFUi:  BLACKGUARD 

strength,  grace  of  bearing,  and  the  temper  of  the 
spring-time  between  sun  and  shower.  Small  bUme 
to  me  if  my  five  senses  worshiped  this  triumph  of 
nature's  artifice,  which  the  creature  had  for  sale  for 
Sarde's  position,  Rams'  money,  or  any  passbg  storm 
of  her  ambition.  Those  greater  women  whose  souls 
are  not  for  sale  will  be  the  last  to  judge  her. 

We  Latins  are  perhaps  more  womanish  than  the 
Wond  men  of  the  North,  having  more  sympathy, 
and  deeper  understanding  of  women.  It  was  my 
fate  to  discern,  to  see  right  through  them,  and  I  had 
no  illusions  concerning  Mi-tress  Violet  Her  beauty 
appealed  with  frightful  strength  to  my  manhood.  In 
saying,  "With  my  body  I  thee  worship,"  I  should 
speak  the  truth.  But,  "With  my  spirit  I  thee  wor- 
ship," I  could  say  to  Rain,  and  to  no  other  woman 
I  ever  knew.  Passion  I  had  for  many,  devotion  I 
had  toward  all  things  beautiful,  but  love  for  only 
one  woman,  and  her  I  might  not  marry. 

I  have  spent  days  trying  to  write  this  passage,  to 
express  in  words  of  clean,  just,  decisive  English 
the  relations  between  a  man  and  a  woman  brought 
together  in  wedlock,  where  the  woman  gave  all,  but 
the  man  gave  nothing  because  he  withheld  his  soul. 

"He  who  called  Arms  and  Letters  a  pair  of  sis- 


'^Wf^ 


THE  SACRIFICE  ag^ 

««".  knew  nothing  .bout  their  family,  for  no  line- 
HM  are  so  far  apart  as  saying  and  doing." 

fJZtZ'jT"^''''''''"-^  '.nothingtodo 
but  look  hade,  I  gabble  most  confoundedly;  but  in 
ttose  day,  I  was  a  man-at-arms.  I  migJt  bein" 
deedtroop  jester,  but  the  jester's  habit  is  the  mask 
of  reticence.    I  made  the  woman  meny.  to  ease  the 

How  could  I  tell  such  a  Creature  that,  in  giving  my 
hand.  I  gave  my  mother's  «nk.  my  mother's  dig- 
n>t^    The  woman  might  be  Sarde's  wife,  or 
S«de  s  d^carded  mistress,  for  all  I  cared,  but  not 
Ae  Marchioness  of  the  Alpuxarras  to  tarnish  the 
old  and  lovely  memories  of  my  house.    Raric  is  a 
«sponsib.hty.  at  times  a  burden,  a  thing  we  try  to 
forget  m  our  private  life.  „ot  to  be  soiled  in  tl« 
filthy  conversation  of  camp  or  barrack,  not  to  be 
tarnished  by  a  woman  of  doubtful  character.    Un- 
less I  iould  pass  my  knighthood  on  to  the  sons  of 
a  gMtlewoman.  the  succession  would  go  to  my 
brother    And  so,  before  we  parted  at  Wild  Horse 

Tr\l  *^r  *"  ^"  ^""^'^  ''«P'«S  *he  badge  of 
tiic  Golden  Fleece. 

The  incompetent  in  charge  at  the  Kootenay  Mis- 
s.on  was  my  friend  of  the  church  parades,  and  he 


388  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

refused  me  marriiige.  Had  he  been  a  Chrittian, 
there  had  been  no  mAt  age,  for  ever  so  gladly  would 
I  have  made  confessi  ti  to  a  real  priest,  and  at  his 
orders  provided  for  the  woman  in  her  necessities. 
But  this  parson  was  merely  a  creature  of  convention, 
since  the  weeds  of  respectability  sprang  up  to  choke 
the  flowering  of  his  soul.  He  objected  to  me  as  a 
Papist,  to  the  woman  as  a  Prohibitionist  or  a  vege- 
tarian, or  some  such  uncouth  sectarian  outside  the 
pale.  He  objected  to  the  social  misalliance,  as 
though  he  were  priest  to  a  god  of  etiquette.  He  de- 
manded a  permit  from  my  commanding  oiHcer.  He 
demurred  on  grounds  of  infancy. 

"We  don't  mind  getting  married,"  I  told  him,  "un- 
less you  prefer  that  this  woman  should  be  my  mis- 
tress." 

At  that,  he  collapsed  altogether,  and  merely  to 
save  him  from  being  mixed  up  in  a  scandal,  that 
marriage  was  made  in  hell. 

"Whom  God  hath  joined,"  he  said,  "let  no  man 
put  asunder." 

"But  why  blame  Him?"  I  asked,  and  the  service 
ended. 

Of  the  same  breed  are  marriage  and  repentance. 


THE  SACRIFICE 


Our  borrowed  pony  had  bwn  left  behind  at  Wind- 
ermere  from  whence  the  «flora  and  I  rode  double 
on  Black  Prince.  My  broken  leg  was  scarcely  fit 
for  travel,  and  the  wedding  delayed  us  al«,  for 
~me  hours  on  our  way  to  troop  headquarters  at 
Wild  Horse  Creek. 

But  swift  and  direct  went  a  despatch  from  the 
sergeant  in  charge  at  Windermere  to  the  officer  com- 

mandmgD  Division.   The  news  reached  Sam  a  day 
ahead  of  us.  ' 

To  him.  as  the  nearest  magistrate,  it  was  reported 
that  Doctor  Eliphalet  P.  Burrows  was  in  custody 
charged  with  fraud,  with  destroying  the  security  for 
h.s  debts,  and  with  burning  the  Throne  cabins  where 
he  was  caretaker  in  charge.  Mr.  Rams  was  detained 
on  charges  brought  by  Burrows.  Constable  la  Man- 
cha.  riding  double  with  the  runaway  wife  of  Inspec- 
tor Sarde.  was  on  his  way  to  report  to  the  O.  C.  D. 
Division. 

So  we  were  expected,  and  on  my  arrival  in  camp 
at  Wild  Horse  Creek.  I  was  paraded  at  once  before 
my  officer  commanding. 

"Constable."  he  asked,  "what  do  you  mean  by 
brmgjng  Mrs.  Sarde  into  my  camp?" 


290  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"The  lady,  sir,  whom  I  have  brought  is  the  Se- 
nora  de  la  Mancha." 

Sam  turned  to  the  orderly  corporal.  "Place  this 
man,"  he  said,  "under  arrest." 

I  handed  over  my  side-arms. 

"Prisoner,"  said  Sam,  "you  will  be  charged  with 
going  through  the  form  of  marriage  without  per- 
mission, and  in  defiance  of  regulations.  You're  en- 
titled to  twenty-four  hours  to  prepare  your  defense." 

"I  don't  ask  a  minute,  sir.  Whatever  you  do  is 
going  to  be  dead  straight  to-day  or  to-morrow." 

"You  take  a  grave  risk  playing  with  me,"  said 
Sam. 

"I  see,  sir,  that  you're  striking  camp,  for  a  march. 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  prisoner  and  a  nuisance  while 
there  are  wheels  in  mud-holes." 

That  spirit  appealed  most  powerfully  to  Sam. 
"Defend  yourself,"  he  said  gravely.  "I'm  your  best 
friend." 

He  knew  I  loved  him  dearly. 

"Sir,  I  found  this  lady  abandoned  on  the  Selkirks 
in  several  feet  of  snow.  I  took  her  to  the  padre  at 
the  mission.  It  was  no  time  for  fooling,  I  gave  her 
the  only  protection  possible.  Sir,  you'd  have  done 
the  same.    Now  I've  come  straight  to  report." 


THE  SACRIFICE  29, 

"What,  go  through  a  mock  marriage  with  an  of- 
ficer's wife?" 
"That,  sir,  is  not  true." 

"What,  you  charge  my  brother  officer  .'—Corporal 
just  stand  back  out  of  ear-shot.  Now,  La  Mancha,' 
what  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?" 

I  told  him  of  Sarde's  bogus  marriage  with  Miss 
Burrows,  performed  by  Happy  Bill,  a  bogus  parson, 
of  how  the  facts  were  discovered  by  Joe  Chambers, 
who  died,  passing  the  woman's  defense  to  me,  of  my 
duel  with  Sarde  to  obtain  her  release,  and  her  re- 
turn to  her  guardian.  Loco  Burrows. 

"You  bring  no  charge,  then,"  asked  Sam,  "against 
Inspector  Sarde?" 
"None,  if  he  leaves  me  alone." 
Sam  recalled  the  orderly  corporal. 
"Prisoner,"  said  he,  "you  plead  guilty  to  a  charge 
of  marrying  without  leave.    I'm  sorry  to  say  that 
my  duty  requires  me  to  report  this  matter  to  the 
.tonunissioner.  and  he  will  give  sentence.    All  I  can 
do  is  to  report  with  a  strong  recommendation  to 
leniency,  for.  in  spite  of  your  defaulter  sheet,  you're 
the  best  duty  man  in  my  division. 

"But--why,  man.  you'd  been  warned  by  express 
orders  from  the  commissioner  that  your  next  offense 


III 


Kli 


r  IB 

i 
i' 


::i-   ;    ! 


li 


292  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

would  be  final.  You've  no  more  chance  than  a 
snowflake  in  hell.  Don't  you  see  you  idiot,  that  a 
constable  can't  marry  an  officer's  wife,  or — or  mis- 
tress? It's  impossible. 

"And  I  won't  have  a  woman  with  my  column.  We 
may  be  in  for  a  roii.^h  trip  crossing  the  Rockies. 
But,  then,  we  can't  leave  a  woman  here  in  the  bush. 
You'll  have  to  take  furlough.  Corporal,  make  out 
a  fortnight's  pass.    He'll  report  at  Fort  French. 

"La  Mancha,  I  think,  on  the  whole,  you'd  better 
turn  in  your  accouterments,  kit,  all  government  prop- 
erty.   I'll  advance  your  pay  to  this  date." 

"Is  it  so  bad  as  that,  sir?" 

"I'm  afraid  so.  La  Mancha.  You  must  leave  camp 
before  watch-setting.  Good-by,  my  boy.  God  bless 
you." 

So  he  shook  hands  with  me. 

And  after  I  had  gone,  he  spoke  in  private  to  the 
corporal.  "Warn  that  boy,"  he  said,  "not  to  report 
at  Fort  French.  I'd  rather  see  him  desert  than  get 
a  year's  hard  labor,  and  discharged  with  ignominy, 
or  even  transferred  to  the  civil  courts  on  a  charge  of 
bigamy.  It's  expensive  sometimes.  Corporal,  to  be 
a  gentleman,  eh  ?" 

So  far  as  the  troop  knew,  I  had  a  honeymoon 
furlough,  and  as  I  should  visit  the  United  States,  my 


THE  SACRIFICE  353 

kit  was  turned  in  for  safety.  The  boys  raked  the 
camp  for  rags  which  represented  my  kit  turned  into 
store,  so  that  I  had  my  buffalo  coat,  blankets  and 
good  clothing  to  take  away  with  me.  Breeches  with 
the  yellow  stripe  tom  off,  boots  and  Brafs  old  coat 
were  all  I  could  raise  in  the  way  of  civilian  dress, 
bu.  the  officers  gave  me  a  horse,  the  sergeants'  mess 
another,  the  troop  subscribed  saddles,  pack  gear  and 
camp  outfit,  by  way  of  a  wedding  present 

While  I  was  packing,  I  came  upon  my  war-dress 
as  a  Blackfoot  chief,  the  gift  of  Many  Horses,  dear 
Rams  squinting  brother,  on  that  day,  only  three 
years  ago,  when  I  made  her  a  widow.  If  only  I  had 
married  Rain! 

I  wept  when  I  was  bom.  and  every  day  explains 
the  reason  why. 

The  seiiora  never  guessed  that  I  was  outlawed 
but  seemed  much  more  than  content  with  a  hundred 
men  to  play  with.  She  had  come  down  in  the  world 
from  an  inspector's  lady  to  a  constable's  poor  thing 
but  seemed  much  more  at  home  in  her  new  part' 
Playmg  cat's  cradle  with  Red  Saunders.  Red  'oped 
she  would  'ave  'appiness. 

Throned  in  Budcie's  tent,  she  held  her  court  after 
supper,  while  I  dragged  up  my  friends  and  intro- 
duced them.    "Allow  me  to  present  Wee  James'  legs 


294  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

— ^the  upper  part  of  him  having  gone  aloft."  Wee 
James  stood  six-foot  seven. 

"This  is  Tubby,  our  brevet  acting  deputy  vice- 
cook.  Allow  me  to  make  known  Detective-Sergeant 
Ithuriel  Fat  McBugjuice,  bai  bingah,  yaas.  The 
grin  with  a  face  attached  belongs  to  Mutiny.  Rich 
Mixed  makes  his  bark  and  wags  his  compliments. 
Here's  Sergeant  Snuffleton,  all  present,  and  correct 
waist  measurement  fifty-nine,  my  dear,  and  bustle  a 
number  twelve.  Calamity  makes  his  bow.  And  this 
is  Tribulation,  with  a  bad  cold  from  oversleeping  on 
sentry." 

I  went  to  the  lines,  where  Buckie  and  Brat  were 
loading  my  pack-horse,  and  would  not  let  me  inter- 
fere with  that,  or  with  the  saddling.  Restless,  1 
wandered  among  the  tents,  where  the  boys  were  pre- 
paring for  a  morrow  in  which  I  should  have  no 
share.  "Sweat,  you  poor  workers,"  I  told  them. 
"Lick,  spit  and  polish,  for  every  day  has  its  dog; 
but  I'm  a  free  civilian.  No  more  parades,  no  more 
pack  drill  no  guards,  no  cells,  no  more  fatigues  ex- 
cept good  bed  fatigue. 

"Go  it,  you  pigeon-breasted  shawtails,  clean  har- 
ness, you  poor-souled  rookies,  you  pemmican  eaters, 
you  pie-biters,  you  ring-tailed  snorters  I 

"The  Blackguard  was  taken  young  and  raised  on 


THE  SACRIFICE  395 

alkal^-everybody's  dog  on  government  beans' and 
««w-belly.  rode  sweating  hell-for-leather  after  horse 
th.eves  rebels  and  coyotes,  wore  government  socks, 
and  didn't  believe  in  the  gawspel— 

"Sweat,  you  slaves,  rustle,  you  gophers,  till  the 
cvvies  send  kids  to  «mp  for  a  convent  training,  you 
sons  of  sm-but  I'm  for  the  open  range,  and  you'll 
hear  my  long  wolf-howls  by  starlight." 

Then  I  was  back  with  Black  Prince  to  say  good- 
by.  and  when  Brat  came  to  fetch  me.  I  turned  on  him 
with  a  snarl,  blaspheming  horribly. 

So  I  got  the  seiiora  astride  on  a  man  saddle,  and 
mounted  my  own  plug,  taking  the  lead-rope  from 
Buckie  to  tow  the  pack-horse,  and  gave  Sergeant- 
Major  Samlet  an  episcopal  benediction.    The  whole 
troop  had  gathered  round  us  to  shake  hands  at  part- 
mg,  and  fire  a  volley  of  old  boots  and  rice  as  our 
bridal  procession  moved  out  into  the  darkness,  into 
the  wilderness.    Three  rousing  cheers  drowned  the 
music  of  last  post,  the  funeral  music  which  is  played 
over  open  graves. 

Buckie  and  Brat  came  down  to  the  ford  of  Wild 
Horse  Creek,  and  there,  w.iile  Rich  Mixed  barked 
all  round  us.  I  had  to  say  good-by.  Brat  was  laugh- 
.ng  still  over  the  sergeant-major's  pleasure  at  my 
Latin  compliments:  "Maledkol  Maledidte!"  Then 


296  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

our  horses  went  splashing  into  the  ford,  and  I  saw 
my  dog  break  back  to  his  home  in  camn.  for  the 
bugle  was  calling  "Lights  out"  to  the  very  stars. 
God  who  mends  breaking  hearts  may  have  heard  me 
laugh  when  my  dog  deserted  me. 

The  news  of  my  marriage  with  Mrs.  Sarde  swept 
through  the  regiment  like  flames  through  grass.  All 
men  knew  now  that  either  Sarde  had  made  a  bogus 
marriage,  or  eWe  the  Blackguard  had  committed 
bigamy.  Then  Sarde's  position  become  impossible, 
for  his  brother  officers  demanded  of  him  that  he 
clear  himself  of  scandal  or  send  in  his  papers.  He 
produced  counsel's  opinion  that  a  marriage  made  in 
good  faith  before  any  genuine  minister  of  religion 
would  hold  in  law.  He  obtained  a  warrant  for  my 
arrest  and  extradition  on  charges  of  abduction  and 
bigamy.  If  I  cMne  to  trial,  my  very  innocence  in- 
volved a  year's  imprisonment  for  desertion  from  the 
force. 

To  allay  the  danger  of  my  being  arrested,  the  Brat 
and  Buckie  put  about  the  news  of  my  death,  killed 
by  the  fall  of  a  horse  down  somewi.ere  in  Montana. 
Then  Sarde  felt  safe,  and  slandered  my  memory. 

When  God  made  everything  that  creepeth,  He 
saw  it  was  good.  So  Sarde  was  good,  but  I  do  not 
think  that  he  improved  with  keeping. 


THE  SACRIFICE  397 

The  story  of  my  death  grew  from  a  rumor  into  a 
belief,  and  the  old  hands  remembered  that  Brat  once 
had  a  brother— killed,  poor  chap,  by  the  fall  of  a 
horse  down  somewhere  in  Montana. 

We  who  once  served  in  the  great  regiment  have 
often  come  together  by  accident  in  the  later  years, 
meeting  old  comrades  in  the  Klondike  gold  rush,  or 
the  South  African  field  force,  or  the  national  re- 
serve of  British  veterans.  We  make  new  partner- 
ships for  auld  lang  syne  in  Sikkim  or  Patagonia, 
Damaraland  or  Samoa,  or,  dressed  up  like  ridiculous 
waiters,  dining  at  some  white  table  in  town.  We 
parted  as  troopers  to  meet  as  officers,  our  scalawags 
are  squires,  our  wasters  wealthy  men,  but  our  meet- 
ings are  grave  with  memories  of  Toby  who  died  a 
tramp,  of  Jumbo  who  shot  himself,  of  Monte  who 
was  rolled  on  by  a  horse.  Spirits  are  calling  to  us 
across  the  deep  from  every  continent,  and  all  the 
oceans.  The  glass  that  was  lifted  for  a  toast  of  the 
good  old  times  falls  broken,  because  some  remem- 
bered voice  comes  from  among  the  candles :  "Well, 
here's  luck!" 

I  have  been  present  when  men,  who  did  not  sus- 
pect my  membership,  spoke  of  the  tribal  memories, 
and  one  of  them,  I  remember,  mentioned  the  Black- 
guard kindly,  as  numbered  among  our  dead. 


^  1 


•     I 


CHAPTER  X 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  TORTUBB 


THE  husban4  who  shows  suspicions  of  his  wife 
gives  everybody  to  hope  that  she  is  dissolute.  I 
never  showed  or  felt  suspicion  concerning  the  Se- 
iiora  de  la  Mancha.  While  a  ship's  pump  runs  foul 
there  may  be  suspicion,  but  when  the  ;  earn  clears 
all  doubts  are  at  an  end,  and  it  is  best  to  run  her 
aground  out  of  temptation.  At  Lonely  Valley,  the 
seiiora  was  free  from  temptation. 

In  summer,  I  earned  my  living  as  a  riding  man, 
in  winter  as  a  wolfer  and  trapper  on  the  Montana 
ranges ;  but  all  the  year  round  my  earnings  went  to 
the  land  and  fencing,  the  stock  and  implements,  for 
our  homestead  in  Lonely  Valley. 

I  could  not  become  an  American  citizen  without 
perjuring  my  oath  of  allegiance  to  Her  Brittanic  Ma- 
jesty,  so  my  seiiora  was  sole  owner  of  that  home- 
stead. 

Until  I  could  get  a  livelihood  out  of  the  ranch, 
;298 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  TORTURE        299 

she  had  to  face  the  tragic  loneliness  of  all  pioneer 
women  out  on  the  frontier.  And  that  was  her  pro- 
bation,  test  of  her  womanhood,  measure  of  her 
reality,  if  she  would  be  my  wife.  I  hoped  that,  with 
Uie  advent  of  our  son  Ernesto,  the  woman  would 
find  her  soul.  For  the  soul  has  no  life  in  itself,  can 
not  be  bom  except  in  love  for  others,  or  can  not 
live  save  in  self-sacrifice. 

For  the  first  two  years,  I  think,  I  was  half-dead 
with  pain,  for  I  could  not  see  the  wilderness  in  which 
I  rode,  or  feel  the  glamour  of  the  sky-line,  or  taste 
the  freshness  of  the  air,  or  scent  the  perfume  of  the 
plains  or  mountains.  Then  came  a  third  year,  when 
poignant  memories  dulled  down  to  bearing  point, 
and  I  began  to  live. 

All  of  us.  I  suppose,  have  known  some  usual 
hazards  of  battle,  thirst,  famine,  cold,  pestilence, 
fire,  flood,  storm  or  sickness,  perils  of  the  body  ap- 
pealing to  our  courage  and  leaving  quite  pleasant 
memories.  I.  for  one,  have  found  these  things  good 
for  me,  yet  look  back  only  with  dread,  with  horror, 
to  perils  of  the  mind.  There  are  sorrows  of  which 
even  remembrance  is  screaming  agony,  and  of  that 
kind  was  my  default  from  the  mounted  police.  To 
forget  or  go  mad,  to  fight  devils  and  drive  them  out, 
to  be  reminded  and  have  to  fight  again,  to  beat  aside 


300  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

expedients  of  drugs,  of  drinking,  of  suicide,  and  face 
naked  the  terrors  of  memory — all  that  was  part  of 
my  training,  the  best  part,  the  ordeal  by  torture. 

I  had  no  hope.  Unless  the  ssnora  went  blind,  un- 
able to  see  my  faults,  or  I  went  deaf,  unable  to  hear 
her  tongue,  the  future  had  become  impossible  for 
both.  Yet  desperation  is  mistress  of  the  impossible, 
and  there  was  oije  way  to  make  the  senora's  life  an 
easier  burden.  I  had  found  out  what  dollars  were 
worth  when  I  trieu  to  borrow  some.  But  I  need  not 
borrow.  I  was  twenty-five,  so  it  was  time  for  my 
swindling  trustees  to  render  the  Brat's  estate  and 
mine  into  my  keeping.  So  at  the  end  of  my  third 
year  as  a  cowboy,  after  the  beef  round-up,  I  let  the 
senora  suppose  I  had  gone  to  the  hills  with  my 
traps,  but  spent  every  dollar  on  a  passage  by  rail  to 
New  York.  I  lived  on  crackers.  From  Philadel- 
phia, I  earned  my  passage  as  a  stiff  on  a  cattle  boat 
to  Liverpool,  thence  tramped  to  Cardiff,  and  signed 
on  as  deck  hand  with  the  Bilbao  tramp.  Spain  I 
crossed  afoot,  but  at  Madrid  made  myself  known  to 
friends  of  my  house,  who  lent  me  clothes,  and  ob- 
tained my  presentation  to  the  Queen  Regent.  By 
Her  Majesty's  aid,  I  recovered  all  that  was  left  of 
my  stolen  inheritance,  a  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
with  some  small  arrears.  Then  it  was  diiHcult  to  get 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  TORTURE  301 
away,  but  my  return  to  Montana  was  made  in  com- 
fort.  At  Fort  Benton,  I  opened  bank-accounts  for 
my  brother's  share  and  my  own,  letting  him  know  by 
letter  of  his  succession.  Brat  used  to  address  me 
by  mail  as  Mr.  Crucible. 

So  I  put  on  the  good  old  cowboy  kit  once  more 
saddled  my  horse  and  rode  for  Lonely  Valley  in  the 
first  of  the  winter  storms. 


,1: ; 


■!  J 


Under  a  low  gray  sky  lay  patches  of  autumn 
snow  on  dun  grass  withered  brown. 

I  looked  up  to  the  red  sun  setting  above  the  snowy 
clouded  flanks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  Lonely 
Valley  opened  at  my  feet  where  shadow-  of  evening 
groped  from  hill  to  hill. 

There  had  been  a  snow-storm  all  last  night,  a  thaw 
all  day.  Only  a  few  streaks  of  snow  lay  on  the  turf- 
roofed  cabin.  :he  barn  and  stack,  and  the  plowed 
fire-guard.  The  door  of  the  cabin  creaked,  swing- 
ing on  Its  hinge  straps,  and  in  the  yard  a  little  wolf 
sat  watching  that,  afraid  to  venture  nearer. 

I  found  the  stable  empty,  as  well  as  the  cabin 
Shoved  IP  1  comer  by  the  cabin  stove  was  Don  Er- 
nesto's cradle,  which  I  had  made  of  a  soajvbox  with 


I 


II 


303  THE  CHEERFUL  BL  ACKGUARD 

tarrel  stoves  for  ito  rockew.  That  cradle  was  (cov- 
ered with  dust  Out  In  the  yard  I  found  a  tiny 
grave-mound,  and  at  its  head  a  cross  n  ade  of  two 
lathes  bound  with  a  bit  of  tope.  Pinned  to  the  head 
of  the  cross  there  was  an  envelope  scrawled  with  the 
words,  "My  hart,  2i  Sept.  1890." 

When  I  sat  down  beside  that  cradle,  I  heard  from 
the  sodden  eaves  outside  the  cabin  a  steady  drip  and 
splash  of  water  beating  out  the  time.  Great  swing- 
ing stors  across  the  dial  of  night  can  measure  all 
eternity  without  a  sound,  but  these  drops  of  water, 
thudding,  splashing,  insistent,  peevishly  beating 
time,  endlessly  beating  time,  remorselessly,  i.orribly 
beating  time,  had  driven  a  woman  mad. 

Yes,  even  when  I  crushed  my  ears  with  both 
hands,  still  I  could  feel  these  splashes  throbbing  out 
the  time,  measuring  out  the  nunishment  of  time,  re- 
morseless, passionless  discipline  of  time,  allayi-^g 
medicine  of  time,  whereby  the  Great  Physician  cures 
ailing,  restive,  quivering  but  eternal  souls.  For  time 
is  only  force,  vibrant  like  sea-waves  on  a  coast, 
beating  against  the  feet  of  the  eternal.  Why  should 
the  woman,  made  for  eternity,  be  so  rebuked,  so 
maddened  by  mere  time  as  to  dash  her  fists  against 
the  logs  of  the  wall  until  they  were  stoined  with 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  TORTURE        303 

MooA    The  pain  of  her  bleeding  fists  had  eased  the 
mind's  revolving  agony. 

Unable  to  endure  the  feel  of  the  room,  I  went  out, 
and  on  the  sodden  ground  saw  tracks,  an  hour  old, 
perhaps  more.  A  horse,  prosperous,  fresh  and  well 
•hod,  had  come  by  the  trail  from  Canada.  A  man 
with  the  chain  spur  straps  worn  only  by  the  police 
had  walked  across  from  the  stable  to  the  cabin,  had 
«een  the  dusty  cradle,  had  visited  the  grave. 

And  how  the  woman  would  play  up  with  such  a 
part  as  that  I    She  would  be  discovered  kneeling 
beside  the  cradle— and  make  a  fine  pretense  of  find- 
ing gum-sticks  to  kindle  ihe  stove.    There  would  be 
ostentatious  concealment  of  bleeding  hands  under 
her  apron,  the  mourner's  covered  hands  to  be  found, 
to  drive  my  comrade  crazy,  storming  about  the 
Blackguard's  villainy  while  he  took  charge  of  her 
affairs,  appointing  himself  a  woman's  champion. 
Then  she  would  prate  about  marriage  oaths,  and 
put  up  arguments  for  him  to  contradict,  excuses  for 
me  which  he  would  trample  on,  and  hesitation  pro- 
voking him  to  use  force,  most  violently  tearing  her 
away— all  his  own  fault,  of  course,  and  quite  against 
her  wishes. 
And  then  the  supper,  with  Mistress  Violet  waiting 


304  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

on  the  man,  unable  to  touch  a  bite  of  food  herself 
except  on  the  sly,  while  she  was  getting  his  coffee  or 
cooking  another  batch  of  her  slapjacks. 

While  she  did  stage  business,  taking  off  the  wed- 
ding-ring to  lay  it  on  the  dresser,  her  eyes  would 
devour  the  scarlet  of  his  coat,  the  tan  of  his  neck, 
her  ears  would  wait  for  the  clink  of  a  spur  when 
he  moved,  the  ci^ak  of  his  great  belt.  How  women 
undervalue  what  is  given,  and  die  for  the  things 
denied  them!  When  her  time  came,  that  woman 
would  stage-manage  her  own  death,  and  neglect  her 
own  funeral  to  carry  on  a  flirtation  with  the  devil. 

Oh,  yes,  my  lady  was  too  desperate  with  grief 
to  pass  another  night  within  the  haunted  scene  of 
her  calamities.  She  would  be  abducted  at  once  be- 
fore the  man  had  time  to  change  his  mind.  She 
would  interrupt  her  packing  with  floods  of  tears, 
while  she  stowed  her  own  goods  and  everything  of 
mine  which  might  be  saleable — my  best  riata,  my 
breaking  curb,  spare  gun,  and  buffalo  coat,  even  my 
father's  watch,  and  my  mother's  ring  which  I  had 
trusted  to  her  especial  care. 

The  man  took  her  mare  and  the  pack-horse  out  of 
the  pasture,  and  close  by  the  house  door  he  loaded 
her  baggage  with  a  squaw  hitch,  unhandily,  with 
such  a  trampling  about  as  would  suflfice  for  a  pack- 


THR  C'RDEAL  BY  TORTURE        305 

train.    The,  ac  r oss  his  I  lunderings  came  her  dainty 
tracks  out  Iro.n  rh.  doorway  to  where  he  helped 
her  mount.    And  they  two  had  ridden  southward, 
to  camp  on  wet  ground  within  five  miles  or  so,  where 
I  could  see  a  faint,  reflected  hght  against  Skull  Rock. 
It  is  curious  to  remember  how  all  my  thoughts 
were  evil  as  long  as  I  stayed  in  my  cabin,  or  tracked 
about  the  yard  where  the  very  air  was  fouled  by  a 
taint  of  misery,  of  morbid  brooding,  of  outrageous 
wrong.    Yet  in  the  stable,  where  I  passed  that  night, 
my  thoughts  were  innocent,  my  prayers  went  straight 
up  hke  smoke  on  windless  air,  and  I  was  comforted. 
In  quite  the  best  of  tempers,  I  woke  up  from  my 
sleep  in  the  hay,  bathed,  breakfasted,  brought  in  a 
horse  from  pasture,  saddled  and  rode  out. 

Where  I  had  seen  the  glow  from  their  supper 
fire,  my  seiiora  was  in  camp  with  her  deliverer,  be- 
side the  hollowed  flank  of  old  Skull  Rock,  which 
towered  three  hundred  feet  above  their  bed  place. 
They  were  at  breakfast,  taken  by  surprise,  with  no 
chance  of  catching  their  horses  to  escape. 

It  made  me  catch  my  breath  to  see  the  dear,  fa- 
miliar scarlet  serge,  the  morning  sun  aflame  on  his 
belt,  as  the  man  rose  to  face  me:  my  friend.  Red 
Saunders-that  Cockney  sailor-tramp  who,  ever  so 
long  ago,  brought  news  of  the  Burrows  girl  in  Win- 


I 


li 


306  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

nipeg  when  he  came  to  engage  for  the  service.  I 
bore  no  malice  toward  him  for  rescuing  a  woman  in 
distress,  no  ill-will  toward  the  senora  for  thinking 
my  long  absence  meant  desertion.  I  took  oflf  my  hat, 
as  one  always  must  to  a  woman,  dismounted,  because 
one  does  not  ride  on  ground  where  people  are  en- 
camped, then  turned  to  my  friend  with  outstretched 
hand. 

"Am  I  excused?"  I  asked. 

But  Red  stood  back  with  his  hand  to  his  holster. 

"Violet,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "get  abaft  thish  yer 
rock." 

"Die  first,"  she  answered,  with  a  laugh  of  defi- 
ance, "it's  you  that's  scairt,  not  me." 

So  they  betrayed  guilt  I  had  not  suspected. 

I  sat  down  cross-legged  before  their  sage-brush 
fire,  and  took  a  branch  to  light  me  a  cigarette,  while 
they  stood  watching,  ill  at  ease,  afraid,  the  woman 
making  hysterical  talk  of  the  weather,  the  man  judg- 
ing distance  to  where  the  old  Flukes  mare  grazed, 
jangling  her  bronze  bell. 

"Sit  down,  compadre,"  said  I  to  the  man.  "We've 
got  to  talk  this  over.  Won't  you  ask  the  senora  to 
take  a  seat?  Oh,  pray  be  seated.  Believe  me,  I  ad- 
mire your  good  taste  in  selecting  so  lovely  a  woman 
to  run  away  with — ^your  friend's  wife,  too." 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  TORTURE        307 

It  is  when  the  tone  is  soft  that  words  come  to  an 
cage. 

Covering  the  woman  with  his  body,  Red  fumbled 
nis  holster  open. 

"The  service  side-arms."  said  I,  "are  badly  hung 
and  take  too  long  to  draw."  and  my  Colt  beckoned 
nim  gently  to  a  seat. 

The  man's  face  was  deathly  now,  beaded  wiu, 
sweat. 

"The  senora  will  realize,"  said  I,  "that  the  wom- 
an .s  never  to  blame,  whatever  happens.  When  love 
>s  dead  vows  break  of  their  own  accord,  ano  lovers 
part;  the  woman  to  seek  such  solace  as  she  can  find. 
the  man-believe  me,  an  imperfect  brute-to  wish 
her  every  kind  of  happiness.    Is  this  understood  ?" 

Ere,  cut  that  out!"  said  Saunders.    "Ifs  fight 
I  want,  not  talk!" 

"Last  night,"  said  I,  "yonder  in  Lonely  Valley  I 
read  the  tracks,  the  sign,  and  wished-believe  mel 
that  I  might  be  a  better  husband.  Yes,  I  put  up  my 
httle  sad  prayer  to  that  effect.   I  fear  I  bore  you." 

The  senora  was  crying. 

"This  lady,"  said  I,  "was  quite  right  in  leaving 
Lonely  Valley." 

Saunders  hurled  turses  at  me.  insulting,  defiant 
challenging,  goading. 


3o8  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"Quite  so,"  said  I.  "Quite  so.  As  you  remark, 
there  are  three  of  us  here,  with  only  room  for  two. 
Your  gun  is  loaded?  You  should  be  sure  of  that. 
The  light  is  good,  the  distance— ten  feet— quite  am- 
ple. If  you  get  up  and  lean  against  the  rock  behind 
you,  it  will  steady  the  aim,  for  your  hand  is  shaking, 
Red.  Braceyourself  up,  man.  For  the  honor  of  the 
force,  don't  furik  now  that  you're  caught." 

The  senora  howled. 

"The  lady,"  said  I,  "was  prepared  for  this,  or  she 
would  not  have  brought  you  here.  She  will  oblige 
us  by  dropping  her  handkerchief  as  a  signal  for  us 
to  fire." 

Now  Red  was  blind  and  deaf  with  passion, 
screamii:g  at  me  to  stand  up.  But  to  reply  to  an  evil 
word  '.vith  another  taunt  is  to  clean  off  dirt  with 
mud. 

"Alas,"  I  said,  "I'm  timid.  I  prefer  to  sit,  so  I 
won't  tumble  down.  The  senora  is  requested  to 
stand  out  of  the  line  of  fire."  I  watched  her  sway- 
ing upon  her  feet,  rocking  as  though  she  would  fall, 
as  she  stared  at  me,  horror-struck. 

"As  the  senora  wishes,"  I  said,  "to  take  no  part 
in  this  little  disagreement,  you,  Mr.  Saunders,  will 
count  three  slowly,  firing  at  the  word,  'Three.'  " 

Red  braced  straight  upright,  silent,  and  as  I  looked 


THE  ORDEAL  BY  TORTURE        309 
up  his  gun  sights  into  his  eyes,  I  knew  that  the  kick 
ofthe  gun  would  throw  the  shot  clear  above  me. 
Onel    he  gasped.    "Two !"  and  with  a  scream,  the 
woman  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  guarding  him 
will,  her  body,  destroying  his  aim. 
I  shouted,  "Don't  fire  I"  and  lowered  my  gun 
"You  bleedin'  curl"  Red  yelled.     "I'm  goin'  to 
k.Il  you!      And  he  wrestled  with  the  woman  to 
throw  her  clear. 

I  Jumped  to  my  feet,  and  showed  Red  my  Colt 
spmmng  the  empty  cylinder.  "Not  loaded.  Red' 
You  see.'  I  didn't  expect  a  fight." 

I  sheathed  my  Colt,  then  snatched  Red's  Enfield 
This  one.  you  see,  is  loaded,"  and  I  spilled  the  cart- 
ndges.  then  battered  his  gun  against  the  rock  until 
the  trigger  smashed. 

"You  didn't  understand  me,"  I  explained.  "You 
betrayed  your  friend,  you  betrayed  this  unhappy 
woman  in  her  trouble.  How  should  you  under- 
stand? I  am  fastidious,  and  do  not  grant  to  curs 
the  honor  of  engaging  me.  There,  you  may  have 
your  gun.    Catch!" 

I  walked  to  my  horse  and  mounted.  "You  may 
understand,"  I  said,  'that  this  ladv  was  my  wife 
but  It  seemed  that  love  was  buried,  with  a  little  cross 
on  the  grave.   So  the  Senora  la  Mancha  was  free 


1:^ 


310  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

But  I  was  not  free.  She  might  have  intended  only 
a  brief  absence  on  business  of  her  own,  or  perhaps 
a  holiday.  She  might  have  been  taken  by  force  or 
lured  away  by  fraud.  She  might  still  care  for  me, 
and  she  might  return. 

"I  came  here  to  get  proof,  to  find  out  for  certain 
which  of  us  two  she  loves.  It  was  into  your  arms, 
not  mine,  she  threw  herself.  Is  it  not  proved  ?  The 
honor.of  guarding  this  lady  is  yours,  not  mine." 

Then  Red's  eyes  fell  before  mine,  and  he  under- 
stood. 

"Seiiora,"  I  lifted  my  hat,  and  bowed  to  her  for 
the  last  time  on  earth.  "When  Beauty  murdered  her 
sister  Chastity,  she  was  turned  into  a  vulture. 

"You  may  remember  that  Joe  Chambers  died  for 
you,  and  Sarde  lost  his  career,  and  I  was  ruined,  as 
this  poor  man  will  be  ruined,  and  others  after  him. 

"You  are  too  wondrous  fair  to  be  all  one  man's 
own,  but  God  aids  her  who  changes,  as  you  will 
change. 

"So  I  commend  you — ^may  you  ride  with  God. 
Adios." 

Swinging  my  horse,  I  spurred  homeward,  and 
once  again  was  young. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA 


r\VR  souls  are  like  the  musical  instruments. 
V^   which  do  not  emit  their  melody  unless  they 
are  beaten,  plucked,  blown  or  scraped. 
And  on  this  text,  I  pray  you  hear  my  sermon. 
The  European  has  goods  to  add  up,  neighbors 
from  whom  he  subtracts,  estates  to  multiply,  and 
fortune  to  divide.    For  this  arithmetic  he  needs  ma- 
chinery of  the  brain  which  widens  out  the  forehead 
To  him  are  given  all  knowledge,  glory,  pride,  mag- 
nificence.  the  dominion  of  the  earth,  the  mastery  of 
the  sea.  the  command  of  the  air. 

But  from  the  red  Indian  who  hath  not,  and  whose 
forehead  is  pinched  for  lack  of  exercise,  all  things 
are  taken  away. 

And  yet  it  is  my  comfort  to  remember  that  ances- 
tors of  mine,  who  conquered  the  new  world,  mar- 
ned  with  Indian  women.    From  that  blood  in  my 
veins  I  have  the  pinched  forehead  of  an  Indian,  the 
311 


313  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

happy  poverty,  the  shiftless  lassitude,  which  mocks 
at  the  laboring  white  man. 

Do  you  suppose  the  Indian  venerates  a  religion 
worn  on  Sundays  only  ? 

Do  you  imagine  he  respects  the  laws — a  spider's 
web  to  catch  the  flies  and  let  the  hawk  go  free? 

The  white  man's  only  ambition  is  to  have;  his 
years  are  spent  in  a  fussy  aimless  selfishness,  for 
which  he  forsakes  the  dignity  of  manhood,  and  be- 
ing too  busy,  he  has  no  time  to  live. 

The  Indian's  holy  ideal  is  to  be,  to  learn  from  na- 
ture the  upward  way  toward  God. 

The  Indian  sees  the  white  man  self-made,  self- 
conscious,  self-centered,  self -sufficient,  self-opinion- 
ated—all and  entirely  self.  For  this  poor  prisoner 
within  the  bars  of  self  the  windows  of  the  soul  have 
all  been  darkened,  so  that  he  can  not  see,  or  hear, 
or  scent,  or  taste,  or  feel  the  world  he  lives  in,  Heav- 
en's fairest  province.  Blinded  and  deafened,  dulled, 
a  groping  creature,  he  is  a  specter  haunting  Para- 
dise, waiting  for  death  to  reveal  the  glories  which 
life  has  oflered. 

Just  at  the  last,  before  I  said  "Adios"  to  the 
world,  I  saw  a  little  of  the  United  States,  something 
of  England,  and  of  my  native  Spain.  I  saw  Spain, 
the  land  of  the  past,  England,  the  land  of  the  pres- 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        313 

ent,  America,  che  land  of  the  future.  In  America, 
I  witnessed  the  rise  of  nations,  in  England,  the  poise 
at  the  zenith,  in  Spain,  the  fall.  It  was  like  a  coast, 
the  very  coast  of  time,  with  the  rushing  onset,  the 
tumultuous  crash,  and  piteous  dragging  ebb  of  ris- 
ing, breaking,  dying  empires.  They  come,  they 
have,  they  fall,  passing  away,  and  are  not. 

From  all  that  I  rode  away,  leaving  the  storm  of 
nations  to  rage  and  break  on  pitiless  coasts  of  time. 

"Leave  all  that  you  have,  and  rise,  and  follow 
me. 

Having  is  only  a  shadow  which  flies  away  at  sun- 
down. 

Do  you  remember  that  our  Lord  was  forty  days 
away  in  the  .  pirit  teaching  souls  in  prison  ?  He  may 
not  have  mentioned  His  Jewish  name  to  them.  They 
may  have  called  Him  Love,  for  that  is  the  real  name 
of  the  Only  Son. 

And  if  He  came  again,  do  you  think  it  would  be 
to  the  stupendous  temples,  which  the  white  men  need 
as  trumpets  to  make  their  prayers  heard  above  the 
deafening  clamor  of  the  cities?  Would  not  the  In- 
dians be  swifter  to  give  Him  welcome? 

The  world-storm  died  away  in  the  far  distance. 

Give  me  the  weal  of  being,  which  is  no  shadow 
flyiiig  away  at  sunset,  for  when  my  sun  goes  dcvn,  I 


314  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

■hall  pass  into  star-dad  night,  to  be  immortal  in 
eternal  heavens. 


The  homestead  in  Lonely  Valley  belonged  to  the 
lefiora,  not  to  me.  For  any  larger  career  than  that 
of  pioneer  farmer  my  penmanship  was  childish,  my 
spelling  gaudy,'  while  as  to  sums,  well — if  I  added 
two  and  two,  it  made  one  blot,  which  I  had  to  wipe 
up  with  my  tongue.  And  as  to  being  a  threadbare 
marquis  in  old  Spain,  I  think  I  am  still  too  much 
alive  for  that. 

Very  high  and  pompous  with  my  dreams,  I  put 
on  my  buckskin  war-dress  as  Charging  Buffalo,  the 
Piegan  Chief,  loaded  a  couple  of  pack-ponies  and 
set  out  from  Lonely  Valley  riding  my  lop-eared, 
wall-eyed  pinto  cow-horse.  That  night  in  camp,  I 
'boiled  a  tea  of  herbs,  wnich  gave  me  the  Indian 
color. 

Next  day,  a  pack-horse  had  my  saddle  in  his  load, 
for  I  was  riding  once  again  bareback,  as  Indians 
ride,  rejoicing  in  the  natural  and  perfect  savage 
grace  of  a  horsemanship  whose  rhythm  is  like  the 
easy  flight  of  birds.  The  half-forgotten  language 
came  back  phrase  by  phrase,  until  I  could  think  in 
Blackfoot  as  a  poet  might  think  in  verse.    The  In- 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        315 

dian  life  was  coming  back  to  me,  the  hardy,  re- 
sourceful, abstemious  habit  of  the  war  trails.  Mount 
Rising  Wolf  lifted  his  head  above  the  northern  sky- 
line, and  on  the  fourth  evening,  I  trailed  across  the 
meadows  beside  Two  Medicine  Lake  where  once— 
The  mile-wide  ring  of  the  tribal  camp  was  gone 
like  any  snowdrift,  empty  was  the  field  where  I  had 
killed  Tail-Feathers  in  the  ordeal  of  battle.  Now,  as 
then,  the  low  sun  filled  the  valley  with  a  dust  of  gold, 
and  out  of  that  my  enemy  had  come  in  a  whirling 
cloud.  Standing  behind  my  horse  I  had  sighted— 
waiting — and  clenched  my  hand  on  the  gun  as  that 
thundering  charge  swept  home.  There  his  horse 
leap«d  and  crashed  to  the  ground  in  death.  Here,  the 
man's  smashing  fall,  and  he  lay,  twitching  horribly— 

Otit  of  the  golden  haze  came  a  cluster  of  mounted 
people,  men  and  women,  not  the  fierce  warriors, 
Blackfeet  of  six  years  ago,  but  the  poor  blanket  In- 
dians of  the  reservation,  cowed  broken  paupers  on 
their  way  to  draw  their  weekly  rations  at  the  agency. 

And  these,  as  in  a  dream,  saw  the  red  sunlight 
kindle  a  buckskin  war-shirt,  the  blithe  wind  stream- 
ing with  a  warrior's  eagle  plumes,  a  chief  out  of 
their  great  past,  riding  down  from  Dreamland. 

Men  sighed  and  women  whimpered  as  they  saw 
that 


3i6  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

But  now  the  warrior  from  Dreamland  reined  his 
horse,  dismounted,  took  cover,  and  with  a  little  glit- 
tering revolver — 

Then  they  remembered!  At  this  very  place  had 
Charging  Buffalo  killed  the  champion  rifle-shot  of 
the  Black  foot  nation,  and  saved  Rain  the  sacred 
woman  from  being  murdered  I 

At  their  shout  of  welcome  I  swung  astride  my 
horse  to  give  them  the  signs  of  peace,  of  greeting. 

Then,  from  their  midst,  bidding  them  halt,  a 
woman  rode  forward  alone,  dropping  the  blanket 
from  her  shoulders,  tidying  her  hair  with  little  pats 
and  strokes,  greeting  me  in  her  shy  sweet  English, 
and  with  mocking,  derisive  eyes. 

"So,"  she  said,  "you  come !" 

"Rain!" 

"My  dream — he  say  you  come." 

"Rain!  Rain!" 

"Yes,"  she  chuckled,  "um — Boy-drunk-in-the- 
moming  I" 

"Nay.  Charging  Buflfalo!" 

"How  many  horses  you  bring  to  buy  Rain  ?" 

Squinting  delightfully  in  his  efforts  at  Indian 
gravity  came  Rain's  big  brother.  Many  Horses,  am- 
bling beside  me  to  reach  out  a  bashful  hand. 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        3,7 

"Brother."  he  said,  in  Blackfoot,  "1  knew  you 
must  come  back." 

Now  my  Indian  blood-brother  had  no  ideas  of  his 
own,  but  his  mind  was  like  a  lending  library  to  take 
and  issue  the  ideas  of  others.  And  what  Rain 
thought,  he  said.  So  she  had  known  for  all  these 
years  I  would  come  back  to  her. 

It  went  without  any  saying  that  I  came  back  to 
marry  Rain.  All  her  people  knew  as  much,  for 
when  they  had  given  me  their  gracious  welcome, 
they  went  on,  as  they  must,  to  draw  their  rations, 
telling  Many  Horses  to  hurry  up  and  join  them. 
Not  that  a  hint  could  penetrate  his  hide.  But,  then, 
there  was  no  need  for  Rain  and  myself  to  be  alone, 
for  she  and  I  were  one,  and  nobody  else  existed  as 
we  rode  side  by  side  through  a  haze  of  glory.  Out 
of  that,  we  came  to  a  little  cluster  of  teepees  by  the 
lake-side. 

Rain's  only  son,  young  Two  Bears,  had  gone 
away  to  the  Sand  Hills,  but  her  brother  had  a  bunch 
of  brown  babies— three  of  them  in  his  lodge— who 
were  trying  with  grubby  hands  to  mend  her  heart 
Rain  was  a  very  great  lady  among  the  Blackfeet, 
daughter  of  Brings-down-the-Sun,  widow  of  Tail- 
Feathers,  and  a  sacred  woman,  but  in  her  brother's 


: 


3i8  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

lodge  only  a  nurse,  the  down-trodden  victim  of  that 
triumphant  sits-beside-him  wife,  Owl-Calling-"Com- 
ing,"  mother  of  real  brown  babies.  Children  were 
scarce  as  angels  in  the  Blackfoot  camps,  and  Owl 
had  full  right  to  make  merry. 

All  in  a  bustle,  she  prepared  a  feast  for  me.  There 
was  pathetic  borrowing  from  the  neighbors  to  make 
that  slender  sdpper,  at  which  we  all  pretended  to 
have  no  appetite.  Only  when  it  was  over  could  I 
unload  my  horses,  and  for  once  in  my  life  play  at 
being  millionaire.  I  had  never  dreamed  I  was  so 
fabulously  rich,  but  there  were  presents  for  every- 
body hidden  away  in  my  cargo,  besides  provisions 
enough  for  a  great  banquet,  which  kept  the  tribe 
feasting  till  sunrise. 

The  gods  of  the  Blackfeet  had  deserted  them. 
Within  a  generation  their  forty  thousand  mounted 
warriors  had  become  a  remnant  of  five  hundred 
paupers,  sick  with  tuberculosis,  brutalized  with 
liquor.  They  had  lost  their  faith,  their  self-respect, 
their  native  cleanliness,  their  arts,  games,  festivals, 
and  now,  in  sullen  apathy,  awaited  death. 

Yet  in  one  camp  at  least  the  dying  fires  flickered 
up  at  my  coming.  Old  Medicine  Robe  called  his 
priests  and  sacred  women  to  the  sweet  and  solemn 
ritual,  with  which  I  was  formally  adopted  as  a 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        319 


Blackfoot,  as  a  chief  and  as  his  son.  The  young 
men  roused  themselves  for  a  hunting  and  killed 
deer,  so  that  the  women  might  dress  the  skins,  and 
make  clothes  for  Rain  and  for  me.  The  poles  were 
cut,  the  cover  sewn  for  my  lodge,  in  which  I  had 
to  sit  in  lonely  state  while  Rain  attended  me  with 
meals,  which  she  brought  from  her  hearth.  The 
lodge  was  furnished  for  me  with  robes,  blankets, 
panther  skins,  back-rests  and  parfleche  trunks. 

Then  I  must  take  my  ponies  and  tie  them  at  the 
lodge  door  of  my  brother.  Many  Horses.  But  Many 
Horses,  not  to  be  outdone,  tethered  every  pony  he 
had  left  at  the  door  of  my  new  teepee.  That  was 
Rain's  dowry. 

And  lastly,  the  wedding  moccasins  were  made, 
beautifully  embroidered  with  porcupine  quills,  dyed 
in  wild  herbs.  These,  with  a  fine  dinner,  were 
brought  to  my  lodge  by  Rain  and  Owl.  But  Owl 
stayed  outside,  while  Rain  came  in,  and  by  that 
happy  action  became  my  woman. 

I  kneel  at  my  table  here,  to  pay  my  reverent  trib- 
ute to  this  adorable  woman,  and  her  commanding 
loveliness.  Rain  was  a  lady  to  her  finger-tips,  and 
in  any  society  would  have  had  the  men  at  her  feet. 
Shy,  dainty,  with  a  quaint  delicate  humor  al!  her 
own,  she  mothered  and  owned  me  with  perfect  tact 


320     THE  CHEERFXJL  BLACKGUARD       ' 

and  rare  intelligence,  for  the  woman  who  obeys  her 
husband  rules  him.  If  my  lady  had  faults,  I  loved 
her  for  them.  And  where  every  dog,  baby  and  kit- 
ten saw  her  excellence,  how  could  I  be  blind? 

It  was  my  right  and  privilege  to  serve  my  lady, 
but  her  heart  was  like  a  sanctuary  too  holy  for  me 
to  enter.  To  her  came  men  in  trouble,  confessing 
their  sins;  and' all  their  secrets,  with  many  of  her 
own,  she  kept  to  herself.  She  told  me  only  what  it 
was  good  for  me  to  know,  and  if  she  told  me  secrets, 
I  can  keep  them.    I  have  nothing  else  to  keep. 

For  seven  years  I  was  not  the  Blackguard  at  all, 
but  something  quite  different,  so  the  chronicle  of 
that  time  hardly  belongs  to  this  writing.  And  yet 
writing  is  a  sixth  sense  for  the  absent,  a  consolation 
for  those  who  are  alone,  for  those  who  are  lonely. 

By  all  the  codes,  the  sanctions  of  conduct  and 
standards  of  judgment  which  make  the  world's 
opinion,  I  was  the  husband  of  a  prostitute  and  kept 
a  squaw  for  mistress. 

But  by  the  pity  of  Christ,  I  had  tried  to  save  a 
falling  soul  from  ruin  before  I  married  an  honor- 
able woman. 

Our  codes,  our  sanction,  standards,  opinions, 
views,  like  our  bilious  attacks,  our  selfishness  and 
our  debts,  are  matters  demanding  attention  without 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        321 

adding  to  our  welfare.  Will  you  accept  my  opin- 
ions as  a  gift  ?    Shall  I  adopt  your  views  ? 

These  are  infirmities  of  the  mind  or  body  which 
we  can  not  sell  or  give  away  or  thrust  upon  our 
neighbors.  Our  bodies  are  fouled  by  the  world,  our 
minds  are  fogged  until  the  blazing  truth  of  God 
bums  our  impurities.  It  is  conceivable  that  from 
such  a  world  as  ours  only  as  pariahs  can  we  advance 
in  manhood,  in  moral  worth,  in  spiritual  growth.  I 
have  climbed  mountains  from  whose  summits  all  the 
ways  of  the  world  looked  small  as  spider-threads, 
leading  to  nowhere  in  particular ;  and  if  we  descried 
from  the  heavens  these  beaten  paths  of  men,  they 
would  not  seem,  I  think,  to  be  the  only  trails  through 
the  star-fields. 

Since  public  opinion  hanged  the  Saviour  of  man- 
kind, it  seems  to  need  a  guide. 


m 


The  fox  who  had  lost  his  tail  attempted  to  set  a 
fashion  in  docked  foxes. 

So  I,  who  could  not  ask  for  rations  as  an  Indian, 
persuaded  my  friends  to  have  no  further  dealings 
with  the  white  man.  His  agent  was  a  thief,  his 
missionary,  schoolmaster  and  farm  instructor  were 


322  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


a  pack  of  fools,  his  regulations  were  fences  to  be 
jumped,  his  rations  poison  to  their  self-respect,  his 
clothes  were  sinful  forms  of  ugliness,  his  stuffy 
buildings  killed  them  with  consumption,  his  man- 
ners and  customs  ruined  Indian  women. 

Our  head  chief  gave  me  leave  to  form  a  band  of 
hunters  and  trappers,  men,  women  and  children 
sworn  to  earn  their  living,  and  avoid  the  whites,  to 
eat  wild  meat,  to  wear  skin  clothes,  and  be  real  In- 
dians, not  imitation  whites. 

And  so  we  took  to  the  woods. 

Through  our  separation.  Rain  had  played  the 
woman,  but  from  the  time  of  our  marriage  was  a 
child  again,  for  life  was  one  long  game  at  which 
she  played  with  happy  gravity.  When  I  confessed 
my  trouble  in  keeping  clear  of  Sarde,  my  enemy, 
because  I  wanted  always  to  take  his  life.  Rain  went 
to  work  playing  at  magic,  with  all  the  simple  earnest- 
ness she  gave  to  cooking  eggs.  To  her  mind  eggs, 
casting  out  devils  and  making  poultices  were  parts 
of  housekeeping,  and  she  must  have  my  soul  cleaned 
or  my  socks  patched,  because  she  insisted  on  a  t'Ay 
husband.  She  banished  Sarde  from  my  thoughts, 
she  exorcised  Red  Saunders.  She  made  me  pray  to 
the  fairy  animals,  and  threatened  to  sacrifice  all  my 
hair  to  the  sun  unless  I  behaved  myself  and  spoke 


THE  SOUL  OF  I.A  MANCHA        323 

respectfully  about  my  mother-in-law.  This  mother- 
in-law,  if  you  please,  was  the  beaver  woman  spirit 
who  helped  Rain  in  her  dreams.  It  was  not  etiquette 
that  I  should  meet  the  lady. 

Among  the  Blackfeet.  as  with  the  whites  and 
other  barbarians,  the  women  rule  all  they  love.  It 
was  part  of  Rain's  game,  to  rule  our  wandering  tribe, 
so  we  poor  tribes-folk  obeyed  her  when  we  had  to. 

Her  religion  forbade  us  to  eat  fish  or  ground 
game,  but  we  needed  a  few  sins  just  to  keep  us  in 
practise,  so  when  she  had  duly  forbidden  unholy 
food,  she  used  to  do  the  cooking.  Her  faith  de- 
nied" us  the  shooting  of  wolves  because  they  were 
hunting  comrades,  but  I  must  own  that  the  govern- 
ment bounty  on  their  scalps  appealed  to  me  more 
powerfully  than  relig-on— and  then  she  gave  my 
earnings  to  the  poor. 

In  the  matter  of  bears,  however,  Rain's  piety  was 
rather  quarrelsome. 

She  would  not  let  me  mention  any  bear  except  in 
terms  of  compliment,  as  "The  gentleman  with  the 
fur  coat,"  or  "The  Inspector  General  of  Berries." 
Once,  when  I  used  the  words,  "Damned  Greedy 
Brute,"  a  grizzly  overheard  me,  and  ate  our  camp 
that  night.    "I  told  you  so,"  said  Rain. 

As  to  shooting  a  grizzly:    "He  is  always  an- 


324  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

noyed,"  quoth  Rain.  "And  sometimes  more  so."  I 
shot  that  robber,  all  the  same,  and  my  wife  needs 
hang  up  her  best  frock  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  sun  before 
she  dared  touch  the  skin.  She  moistened  its  brain 
with  her  tears  while  she  dressed  the  pelt,  and  when 
the  work  was  finished  refused  to  sleep  in  the  lodg^ 
with  it  for  company.  Indeed,  she  made  such  a  fuss 
that  I  gave  up  hunting  bears  and  they  could  cock 
snooks  at  me  whenever  we  happened  to  meet.  The 
fact  is.  Rain  tamed  me  until  I  had  not  so  much  as  a 
vice  to  call  my  own. 

They  do  say  that  when  the  lion  is  dead,  even  the 
very  hares  will  pull  its  mane. 

We  had  our  little  troubles.  There  was,  for  ex- 
ample, a  good  deal  of  starving  to  do.  But  God  is 
omnipotent :  and  money  is  His  lieutenant  My  pay 
for  being  a  marquis,  five  hundred  dollars  a  year, 
went  a  long  way  toward  putting  off  inevitable  fam- 
ines. Each  year,  too,  we  brought  our  pelts  to  the 
traders,  who  were  surprised  at  the  prices  they  had 
to  pay  in  guns  and  ammunition,  traps,  tobacco  and 
comforts.  They  said  I  was  aptly  named  as  Charging 
Buffalo. 

Under  our  chief's  direction,  we  turned  weavers, 
making  our  scratchy  blankets  of  mountain  goat  hair. 
They  fetched  a  deal  of  money ;  but  with  the  pottery 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        325 

we  were  not  successful.  My  Indian  brother,  Many 
Horses,  had  only  to  give  one  squint,  and  our  best 
pots  fell  all  to  pieces. 

Sometimes  in  spring  we  would  plant  com,  pump- 
kins and  tobacco,  and  if  we  happened  to  pass  that 
way  in  the  fall,  would  gather  such  a  crop  as  the 
wild  things  had  spared  to  us.  Great  were  our  har- 
vests, too,  of  camass  and  wild  fruit  dried  and  stored 
up  for  winter.  If  ever  we  happened  to  kill  a  mave- 
rick cow,  we  tanned  the  skin,  dried  the  meat  and 
buried  the  bones,  leaving  no  trace  of  our  crime 
against  the  white  men's  buffalo.  Very  particular, 
too,  was  Rain  with  our  young  men,  forbidding  them 
to  steal  chickens  or  even  to  scalp  settlers. 

That  was  not,  she  said,  the  way  to  ignore  the 
white  men.  So,  barring  the  needs  of  trade,  we  left 
them  severely  alone,  and  played  at  ghosts  on  our 
moonlight  flittings  through  any  outlying  settlements. 

Sometimes  we  rescued  loSt  and  starving  travelers, 
who  would  spread  the  news  of  an  unknown  Indian 
tribe  at  large  in  the  wilderness.  Once,  an  official 
came  to  herd  us  back  to  our  reservation,  but  unfor- 
tunately his  interpreter  could  not  speak  our  language 
and,  as  none  of  us  understood  a  single  word  of  Eng- 
lish, we  could  not  make  out  what  was  the  matter 
with  him.    We  fed  this  person  and  his  interpreter. 


326  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

we  gave  them  tobacco,  we  tucked  them  up  in  bed 
and  sang  a  lullaby;  but  when  they  fell  asleep,  we 
broke  our  camp  and  vanished,  leaving  no  tracks  on 
land  because  we  went  by  water,  a  long  night's  march 
along  a  river  bed.  The  white  men  reported  us 
drowned,  but  Rain  explained  to  me  that  this  was 
not  so. 

We  wandyed  along  the  ranges  wherever  we 
fotmd  food,  southward  to  Mexico  and  northward 
into  the  Alps  of  St.  Elias,  wintering  in  alpine  pas- 
tures, traveling  in  summer  throu|^  the  upper  for- 
ests and  the  nether  deserts.  But  where  we  went 
during  those  happy  years,  I  have  not  the  slightest 
notion,  for,  after  all,  heart's  ease  and  life's  delight 
are  poor  geographers.  We  were  not  careful  of 
maps,  considerate  of  the  way,  or  very  much  con- 
cerned as  to  our  destination. 

Once  we  were  in  a  valley  of  the  Canadian  Rockies, 
a  gorge  so  fouled  with  deadfall,  with  beaver  swamps 
and  snow-slides,  that,  high  as  the  water  ran,  we  were 
forced  to  seek  our  passage  along  the  river  bed.  Then 
came  a  cut  bank  strewn  with  fallen  trees,  which 
reached  out  into  the  middle  of  the  current.  At  that, 
the  rock  floor  on  which  our  horses  waded  came  to 
an  end,  and  down  we  went  into  deep  water,  com- 
pelled to  swim  across  to  the  farther  bank.     The 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        327 

ponies  rolled  in  the  swell  of  that  white-manned  rapid 
like  boats  in  a  storm  at  sea.  I  turned  and  saw  Rain 
laughing.  Then  my  horse  went  under  altogether, 
rolling  over  three  times  without  touching  bottom, 
and  both  of  us  were  very  nearly  drowned. 

Afterward,  I  asked  my  wife  if  she  had  been 
frightened. 

"When  I  saw  my  big  baby,"  she  said,  "getting  its 
inside  wet,  I  told  my  secret  helper  to  swim  quick. 
And  the  woman-beaver  dived." 

"So  you  were  frightened  ?" 

"If  you  died.  Big  Baby,  you'd  have  to  come  back 
to  me  to  be  comforted.  And  when  I  die  I  shall  look 
after  you.  And  when  we're  both  dead,  we  shall  ride 
the  Wolf  Trail  together,  because  you  are  me  and  I 
am  you  for  always.  Nothing  else  matters,  and  there 
isn't  anything  left  to  frighten  us." 

Rain  would  be  teaching  me  quaint  dances,  or  set- 
ting our  household  in  a  roar  with  imitations  of  my 
face  as  I  played  the  flute.  She  mocked,  flouted, 
caressed  all  in  a  breath,  and  chaffed  me  with  make- 
believe  flirtations,  pretending  to  fall  in  love  with 
Left  Hand  or  Bearpaw,  our  young  warriors.  Yet 
while  she  crooned  and  twittered  over  her  household 
work,  for  all  the  world  like  some  fussy  bird  at  nest- 
ing time,  I  began,  vaguely  at  first,  then  with  a  grow- 


338  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

ing  sureness,  to  feel  that  the  play  was  forced,  that 
my  fairy  woman  was  in  pain,  trying  to  hide  some 
illness  which  sapped  her  strength.  Then  once,  by 
accident,  I  saw,  when  she  thought  herself  to  be  alone, 
agony  in  the  poise  of  her  body,  desperate  fear  in 
her  eyes. 

That  summer,  a  certain  attentiveness  of  the  trad- 
ers, a  disposition  to  ask  needless  questions,  gave  us 
a  sense  of  being  watched  by  the  authorities.  Trav- 
eling with  horses,  and  leaving  tracks,  we  were  lia- 
ble to  be  followed  and  interfered  with.  For  that 
reason,  we  built  birch-bark  canoes  which,  swimming 
upside  down  as  a  rule,  gave  us  more  bathing  than 
we  really  needed.    At  least,  we  left  no  tracks. 

Our  river,  without  disclosing  its  name,  went  bub- 
bling affably,  capsizing  us  at  rapids  through  hun- 
dreds of  miles  of  alpine  wonderland,  northward  at 
first,  then  west,  then  southward — in  black  jiLie  jun- 
gles now,  which  yielded  us  no  food.  Beyond  that, 
the  river  took  to  evil  courses,  plunging  as  one  long 
riffle,  br  :  en  by  cascades  into  an  ever  deepening 
abyss  whose  walls  were  mountains.  Our  web-foot 
tribe — for  so  Rain  called  us — ^began  to  be  afraid. 

From  our  next  camp,  I  climbed  a  hill  to  see  what 
became  of  the  river;  and  on  my  return  found  a 
white  man  seated  beside  Rain's  fire.    He  was  a  great 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        329 

gaunt  frontiersnuui,  whose  mouth  had  been  large 
for  a  dog,  and  in  his  eyes  the  smile  of  heaven's  own 
sunlight.  Owl's  two  little  girls  were  climbing  all 
over  him,  the  dogs  were  adoring  him,  and  Rain  had 
given  him  the  very  last  of  our  coffee. 

At  shrewd  sight,  this  visitor  addressed  me  in  Eng- 
lish, with  a  soft  Texan  drawl. 

"How  much  do  you  want  for  the  bunch  of 
babies?" 

"More  than  you've  got,"  said  L 

"I  aim  to  cheapen  them  babies — or  get  them 
wings." 

"Wings?" 

"They'll  ne«d  'em."* 

"You  mean,  there's  bad  water  down  yonder  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Bad  for  brown  babies.  Thar's  thou- 
sands of  millions  in  Heaven,  but  they're  scarce  to  be 
spared  down  heah,  so  I'll  trade  for  this  lot  rather 
than  see  'em  wasted." 

"Where  does  the  river  go?" 

"To  Heavea  Jest  keep  right  on.  You  cayn't 
miss  it." 

"Is  the  canyon  long?" 

"Ef  the  first  mile  ain't  enougL,  thar's  two  hun- 
dred comin'." 

"We're  looking  for  the  sea." 


330     THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"So'i  Fraser  River." 

"rhenit'«theFra«erl" 

"I  wouldn't  call  a  man  plumb  lost  who'd  eyes  like 
your'n,  so  maybe  the  country  hereaways  has  gawn 
strayed." 

"Or  perhaps  our  planet  ha*  wandered  out  of  the 
way?" 

"Out  of  which  way?" 

"God's  way»" 

"Say.  I  like  you  a  whole  lot.  My  name's  Smith, 
'cept  that  my  friends  call  me  Jesse,  Sailor  Jesse." 

"My  name  is— call  me  Squaw-man." 

"Put  her  thar,"  said  Jesse. 

I  have  been  easy  of  acquaintance,  but  of  my  few 
friendships  that  with  Sailor  Jesse  of  Caribou  was 
perhaps  most  intimate. 

We  sat  together  on  the  river  bank  under  the 
golden  mountains,  where  groves  of  yellow  pines,  like 
throngs  of  angels,  swayed  to  the  organ  peal  of  a 
triumphant  wind.  We  watched  the  brave  river  go 
merrily  to  her  drowning.  So  merrily  went  my  wife, 
full  conscious  of  great  death. 

I  told  Jesse  about  that  red  imp  of  pain,  which 
danced  and  glowed  like  fire  within  her  shoulder.  To 
consult  a  doctor,  I  must  risk  a  visit  to  settlements, 
where  the  authorities  would  arrest  my  tribe,  herd- 


t        THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        331 


ing  them  to  imprisonment  on  their  reservttion.  And 
that  involved  my  own  fate  aa  a  deserter  from  the 
mounted  police,  accused  of  bigamy  with  Sarde's 
wife. 

Most  wonderfully  my  friend's  words  flattened  the 
rough  difficulties,  made  my  journey  short  and  eased 
the  way.  On  the  coast,  he  told  me,  Indians  went 
free  and  unquestioned  like  the  white  men.  Food 
was  abundant  both  by  land  and  water.  He  would 
show  me  where  I  could  make  a  base  camp  for  my 
tribe  within  one  day's  journey  of  a  cottage  hospital. 

So  Jesse  led  us  by  a  portage  across  the  coast 
range,  and  through  the  abysmal  chasm  of  Bute  In- 
let to  a  cove  in  Valdez  Island.  There  the  Douglas 
pines  towered  three  hundred  feet  into  the  sunshine, 
and  through  their  cathedral  aisles  ranged  herds  of 
elk.  Sheer  from  the  feet  of  the  trees  went  the  fa- 
thomless blue  of  a  deep  channel,  and,  far  beneath, 
the  waving  swaying  groves  of  a  seaweed  forest 
faded  away  into  the  nether  darkness. 

My  wife  would  not  allow  me  to  take  her  to  the 
cottage  hospital,  lest  seeing  her  untidiness  in  blood 
and  pain,  I  cease  to  love.  "If  lesse  sees  me,"  she 
said,  "it  doesn't  matter,  and  if  I  die  it  will  be  so 
easy  to  find  this  camp.  I  shall  think  of  your  wait- 
ing, guarded  by  spirit  trees." 


!( 


332     THE,  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

She  went  with  Jesse,  trusting  him,  and  contented, 
and  when  my  friend  returned  alone,  on  his  way 
homeward,  all  the  news  looked  good.  There  had 
been  an  operation  for  cancer,  but  Rain  was  doing 
well,  and  would  be  ready  to  leave  the  hospital  in  a 
month.  For  Jesse,  a  month  had  thirty  days  or  so, 
but  for  me  it  numbered  thirty  years.  I  set  my  tribe 
to  work  praying  by  watch  and  watch  for  Rain's 
recovery,  then  fearing  senile  decay  if  I  remained,  I 
prepared  a  one-man  outfit  with  thirty  days'  provi- 
sions, and  set  off  in  my  loaded  canoe  to  be  near  my 
wife  at  Comox. 

Although  I  doubt  if  God  believes  in  churches,  the 
Catholic  faith  in  which  I  had  been  reared  provides 
good  medicine.  So  I  made  confession  to  a  priest, 
and  having  received  his  medicine,  which  was  good, 
secured  his  help  as  an  interpreter.  He  arranged  with 
the  hospital  that  I  should  have  news  of  my  wife,  and 
he  wired  for  me  to  Staff-Sergeant  BucHie,  N.  W.  M. 
P.,  bidding  my  friend  come  because  I  was  in  trouble. 
When  Buckie  answered  that  he  had  applied  for  fur- 
lough, I  was  content  at  my  camp  outside  the  village 
with  fasting  and  prayer  and  the  daily  bulletins.  My 
hair  changed  from  black  to  silver-gray,  dear  proof 
that  God's  hand  was  upon  me.   And  then,  one  mom- 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        333 

ing,  as  I  came  up  from  bathing,  I  found  Rain  wait- 
ing, seated  by  the  fire. 

There  had  been  a  shower,  but  now,  as  the  sun- 
shine swept  great  fields  of  color  across  the  Gulf  of 
Georgia  at  our  feet,  God's  birds,  like  little  angels, 
rocked  the  woods  with  song. 

My  wife  sat  by  the  embers  putting  on  little  twigs. 
"Your  fire,"  she  whispered  to  me,  "was  almost  out." 

Yes,  almost  dead.  Of  late,  it  had  been  hard  to 
keep  the  fire  alive. 

Faith  is  like  that.  One  hardly  sees  it  while  the 
sun  is  shining,  but  it  glows  bravely  in  the  night,  a 
comfort  in  the  darkness,  a  mercy  in  times  of  hun- 
ger, pain  or  loneliness.  The  world-thought  comes 
like  rain  to  damp  the  fires  of  faith,  which  feed  on 
winds  of  trouble,  blow  high  on  gales  of  persecution, 
set  the  whole  world  alight  just  when  our  need  is 
greatest. 

"See,"  said  my  wife,  "the  little  flames  have  come. 
We'll  make  a  fine  blaze  now." 

So  a  good  woman  makes  our  faith  bum  strongly. 

"There's  no  smoke  now,"  she  said. 

Prayer  is  the  smoke  which  comes  from  the  fire  of 
faith,  and  when  the  air  is  calm  it  goes  straight  up. 
Mine  had  been  blown  about  during  the  time  of  wait- 


334  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

ing,  but  now  my  faith  blazed  clear  in  great  thanks- 
giving. 

A  few  days  later,  when  Rain  was  quite  recovered 
and  fixed  in  camp  again,  a  telegram  from  Buckie 
told  me  to  expect  him.  So  I  went  to  the  railroad 
station  and  watched  the  day's  train  arrive. 

I  was  looking  for  a  non-commissioned  officer  of 
mounted  police,  whose  gold  and  scarlet  made  him 
the  most  brilliantly  conspicuous  personage  in  North 
America.         ' 

Buckie  was  looking  for  some  sort  of  cowboy. 

So  it  happened  that  a  well-dressed  civilian  in 
tweeds,  with  a  portmanteau,  a  rod  and  a  shotgtm, 
came  along  the  platform,  and  was  hailed  in  stage 
whispers  by  an  Indian  loafer.  "Oh,  Buckie,  how 
could  you?  Trousers  turned  down — umbrella  rolled 
up— what  awful  side !" 

"Liar  I"  he  answered.  "I  wouldn't  be  seen  dead 
with  an  umbrella." 

"Oh,  what  a  dog!  wouldn't  be  seen  dead  with  an 
umbrella!  Don't  let  the  crowd  see  us  together.  Fol- 
low where  I  lead.  Drown  your  false  teeth,  Buckie, 
change  clothes,  take  a  bath— and  God  won't  know 
you." 

Outside  the  village,  I  let  him  walk  beside  me. 

"But,"  he  gasped,  "you're  an  Indian!" 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        33S 

"Aye,  Buckie.  The  troop  jester  is  dead.  Wasn't 
he  killed  nine  years  ago  by  the  fall  of  a  horse  in 
Montana  ?" 

"But— Blackguard!" 

"He's  dead,  too." 

A  comedian's  fun  is  the  echo  of  pain,  the  motley 
worn  by  sorrow.  But  when  sorrow  and  pain  have 
fled  away,  you  miss  them,  for  we  only  know  the 
light  because  it  casts  a  shadow. 

"How  you've  ichanged!"  sighed  Buckie. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  an  inventive  fish, 
who  discovered  water. 

Some  day,  perhaps,  an  inventive  man  may  dis- 
(K)ver  love,  the  atmosphere  our  souls  breathe.  And 
other  men  will  tell  him,  "How  you've  changed!" 

When  we  had  gained  the  secrecy  of  the  woods, 
and  Buckie  put  down  his  load  to  sit  on  a  wayside 
log  among  the  fern,  he  told  me  wonderful  gossip. 

My  telegram  had  found  him  acting  regimental 
sergeant-major  at  headquarters,  and  when  he  applied 
for  a  furlough  on  urgent  private  affairs,  the  com- 
missioner gave  him  a  parchment  signed  and  sealed  by 
the  viceroy.  Her  Majesty's  commission.  He  was  In- 
spector Buckie  posted  to  his  old  Troop  D  at  Fort 
French,  by  special  request  of  Sam,  the  officer  com- 
manding.  The  senior  inspector  there  was  Mr.  Sarde. 


336  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

The  orderly-room  clerk  was  Staff-Sergeant  la  Man- 
cha,  my  Brat.  The  rest  of  the  fellows  were  new, 
and  total  strangers.    Nine  years.    Of  course. 

"Your  wife — "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes."  I  remembered.  "How's  my  seflora  ?" 

"Dead." 

"Can  you  prove  that?" 

With  all  his  old,  quaint  official  delight  in  docu- 
ments, Buckie  showed  me  a  letter  from  the  sheriff 
at  Helena.  It  seemed  that  the  seiiora  had  become 
a  woman  of  the  town,  and  died  quite  naturally  of 
drink.  Only  the  sudden  flight  of  her  kept  man, 
Red  Saunders,  had  given  rise  to  a  certain  amount 
of  suspicion,  perhaps  ill-founded.  At  least,  the 
senora's  death  had  set  me  free. 

So  far,  Buckie  knew  nothing  of  my  alliance  un- 
der the  Indian  law  with  my  dear  lady,  and  when 
we  came  to  her  camp,  he  was  shocked  to  his  official 
soul  at  being  presented.  Yet  during  the  long  years, 
he  had  learned  to  speak  Blackfoot  with  a  strong 
Canadian  accent,  and  shy  as  my  lady  always  was 
of  strangers,  she  seemed  to  like  my  friend.  After 
all,  the  chap  was  a  gentleman,  delicately  tactful, 
reverencing  women,  and  presently  surrendered  to 
her  charm.  Moreover,  the  pain  and  danger  of  her 
illness  had  partly  unsheathed  the  sweet  and  radiant 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        337 

spirit  of  the  sacred  woman,  so  that  her  beauty  had 
taken  on  an  unearthly  glamour.  To  that,  my  friend 
proved  sensitive. 

After  dinner,  I  told  Rain  of  my  new  freedom,  and 
begged  her  to  accept  the  white  men's  rite  of  mar- 
riage. To  her,  that  observance  seemed  a  very  tri- 
vial matter,  and  quite  ridiculous  was  the  rank  it 
would  give  to  my  consort  as  Marchioness  of  the 
Alpuxarras.  And  yet,  as  we  hoped  for  children,  she 
consented  to  legalize  our  marriage,  and  that  after- 
noon we  waited  upon  the  priest  to  whom  I  had 
made  confession. 

So  far,  my  lady  had  been  amused,  but  when  Buck- 
ie unpacked  his  baggage,  he  gave  her  a  wedding 
present,  an  old  Spanish  poignard,  its  Toledo  blade 
mounted  in  ivory  and  tarnished  silver.  I  thought 
the  toy  a  most  unlucky  gift,  but  to  Rain  it  was 
a  perfect  revelation,  the  first  entirely  useless  thing 
she  had  ever  owned,  a  possession  for  pleasure  only, 
and  therefore  priceless.  We  spent  the  rest  of  our 
wedding-day  hunting  the  village  stores  for  objects 
of  perfect  uselessness. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  next  day  before  my  lady, 
Buckie  and  I  left,  our  canoe  loaded  to  the  gunwale 
with  treasures.  Till  dusk,  we  paddled  gently  along 
shore,  then  on  to  midnight  in  glassy  starlit  waters. 


3a8     THE  CHEERFUL  Bi^CKGUARD 

An  hour's  nap  refreshed  us  for  a  pull  againsi  the 
tide,  then  dawn  broke  above  the  splintered  ice  of 
the  coast  range,  day  kindled  the  Vancouver  Alps 
until  they  glowed  like  flame,  and  the  sun  melted  the 
hills  into  the  cloudy  air.  Then  mighty  whirlpools 
spun  our  canoe  like  a  top  between  a  tide  of  eleven 
knots  and  a  backwater  running  eight.  Dark  forest 
closed  in  on  either  side  of  the  tide-race,  and  we 
spurted  across  the  back-sluice  into  our  tiny  bay. 

A  bevy  of  children  were  skirting  like  gulls  as  we 
landed,  a  cluster  of  laughing  women  hauled  the 
canoe  aground.  We  were  hailed  by  our  one-legged 
Japanese  cook,  our  three-legged  dog,  our  lame  wild 
goose,  an  old  blind  siwash  crone,  and  all  the  mixed 
assemblage  of  our  tribal  pets.  Many  Horses,  Owl- 
calUng-"Coming"  and  their  young  son.  Bears,  Left 
Hand  and  Bear  Paw,  the  hunters,  two  darling  old 
scare-crows,  who  called  themselves  my  wives  be- 
cause they  were  Rain's  attendants;  yes,  the  whole 
Black  foot  tribe  came  down  to  greet  our  chief  and 
make  her  welcome  home  out  of  the  Valley  of  Death. 
Then  all  together  we  attended  Rain  through  the 
dim  naves  of  that  stupendous  forest,  until  we  came 
to  a  fire  of  cedar-wood,  with  its  blue  film  of  in- 
cense. There  the  clamor  ceased,  while  our  chief, 
as  priestess,  burned  sweet  grass  upon  the  altar  fire. 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        339 

and  o£Fered  thanks  for  her  recovery.  Then  came 
hymns  and  sacred  dances,  prayer  and  reading  of 
the  Bible  in  our  own  Blackfoot  language.  Buckie 
went  fast  asleep  standing,  and  Bears  gave  an  imita- 
tion of  that  performance,  which  broke  up  our  ser- 
vice into  roars  of  laughter. 

During  the  weeks  of  his  furlough,  Buckie,  with 
grave  enjoyment,  shared  our  hunting  in  the  forest, 
our  fishing  by  torchlight  in  channels  phosphores- 
cent as  liquid  starlight,  the  bathing,  the  feasts,  the 
dances,  the  matins  at  the  dawn,  the  evensong  at 
dusk.  But  most  of  all,  he  liked  to  sit  with  me 
within  the  portico  of  our  forest  temple,  whence  one 
looked  out  between  colossal  pine  trunks  to  the  sea 
channel,  the  far  white  Alps  and  the  great  pageantry 
forever  marching  across  the  summer  sky.  The  hum- 
ming-birds, the  bees,  the  woodland  perfume,  sun- 
beams athwart  vast  shadows  and  the  strong  music 
of  the  winds  and  seas,  made  that  place  sacred  in 
its  loveliness. 

At  times  we  were  driven  into  our  teepees  by  riots 
of  the  weather,  when  the  women  dressed  skins  and 
made  clothing,  while  Many  Horses  kept  an  eye  on 
the  fire,  and  his  other  eye  on  the  children. 

But  into  that  great  peace  there  came  foreboding. 
Budcie  and  I  knew  well  that  cancer  is  incurable,  that 


340  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

soon  or  late  the  inevitable  pain  would  warn  my 
wife  of  death  which  science  could  only  delay,  which 
prayer  could  only  ease,  and  which  no  power  on  earth 
could  possibly  avert  She  seemed  to  sense  death,  and 
at  times  would  jest  with  Buckie,  telling  him  that  he 
must  take  her  to  the  plains,  or  muttering  in  her 
sleep  she  would  speak  of  the  Blackfoot  camps,  or 
during  matins  would  pray  looking  toward  the  East. 
She  wanted  ^o  go  home,  and  I  must  take  her  back. 
God  would  preserve  me  from  my  enemies. 

I  think  it  was  in  that  camp  I  first  began  to  notice 
how  often  the  dogs  howled,  as  they  do  when  they 
sense  ghosts.  I  have  seen  Rain  frequently  stop  on 
her  way  through  camp  to  speak  to  her  father,  to  her 
mother  or  to  friends  long  dead.  She  saw  them 
plainly,  she  said,  and  spoke  to  them  familiarly,  as 
we  do  to  living  people,  without  the  slightest  sense 
of  fear.  And  her  own  spirit-power  seemed  daily 
to  gain  in  strength.  It  was  her  custom  to  make 
magic  for  our  amusement.  On  the  last  evening 
of  Buckie's  visit,  a  steady  drizzle  had  driven  us  to 
make  our  fire  inside  the  teepee,  and  half  the  tribe  had 
gathered  ior  a  feast  of  berries.  Then  the  children 
asked  Rain  to  call  Wind-maker. 

"Come,  Wind-maker,"  she  whispered  into  the 


THE  SOUL  OF  LA  MANCHA        341 

hearth-smoke,  and  as  she  threw  some  sweet  grass 
into  the  fire,  we  heard  a  sigh  in  the  air  far  off. 
Bears  gathered  the  younger  children  about  him, 
snuggling  for  protection,  and  all  their  eyes  glow- 
ed in  the  firelight,  as  though  they  were  a  wolf- 
pack  besetting  our  winter  camp  in  the  Moon  of 
Famine.  "Wind-maker  hears!"  they  whispered. 
"Wind-maker  comes  1  Oh,  Rain,  don't  let  him  come 
too  near  us!"        , 

For  answer,  we  heard  a  distant  muttering  of 
thunder. 

A  gust  shook  the  rain-drops  out  of  the  trees 
above  us,  a  seething  of  fine  rain  swept  along  the 
tent  wall,  and  sudden  little  breakers  lashing  on  the 
beach  sent  us  a  splash  of  spray.  The  smoke  hole 
let  in  a  swirling  down-draft  filling  the  lodge 
with  smoke,  while  the  wind  sighed  through  the  tim- 
ber like  hands  upon  a  harp.  Then  the  deep  storm 
notes  volleyed,  thundered  with  blaze  after  blaze  of 
lightning,  crash  upon  rending  crash,  and  wailing 
flute-notes  lifted  to  a  hurricane-screaming  blast, 
thrashing  three-hundred-foot  timber  like  a  whip- 
ping reed-bed,  rocking  the  teepee  until  the  children 
skirled  and  the  women  huddled  together  in  their 
fright.     I  saw  Many  Horses  revealed  in  a  livid 


34a     THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 
blaxe  of  lightning,  his  iron  hard  face  let  rigid,  hit 
teeth  clenched,  his  crossed  eyes  glittering  as  though 
he  rode  into  battle. 

His  son.  Bears,  was  standing  exultant,  shouting 
with  triumph.  And  aU  about  my  wife  arose  a  mut 
of  human  spirite  and  vague  animals,  while  the  rain 
roared,  the  cyclone  yelled,  the  thunder  crashed  and 
volleyed.  Then  my  wife's  hands  swept  slowly  down- 
ward, while  ih  obedience,  the  hurricane  roUed  away, 
and  the  rain  eased  and  steadied,  until  a  last  throbbing 
of  thunder  like  ruffled  drums  muttered  among  the 
echoes  of  the  coast  range. 

Our  lives  are  such  Ulusions  as  that  Our  lives  are 
God's  dreams  in  which  we  drive,  like  storm-swept 
ships,  upcm  a  sea  of  terror.  We  suffer  and  go  to 
wreck,  supposing  our  tragic  miseries  all  real,  while 
God  is  dreaming  the  world-storm  in  which  He  trains 
our  courage. 


CHAPTER  XII 
INSPECTOR  Buckie's  narbativk 


I  AM  the  Inspector  Buckie  mentioned  in  the  fore- 
going  text,  and  to  me  is  entrusted  the  editing  and 
completion  of  this  biography.  I  feel  that  in  this  con- 
ventional world  so  very  unconventional  a  man  as 
Don  Josi  needed  a  friend  in  his  biographer.  A 
hostUe  witness,  for  example,  might  bias  the  gentiest 
reader  by  setting  forth  bare  facts  of  bigamy  and 
homicide  which,  taken  without  their  context,  would 
seem  offensive  and  unpardonable.  So  facts  nay 
be  told  as  lies. 

To  strangers,  my  friend  may  have  seemed  an  in- 
credibly complex  personality.  One  saw  him  by 
turns  as  the  grave  courtly  Hidalgo  of  old  Spain,  as 
the  roUicking  Irish  trooper,  as  the  red  Indian  sai  .t. 
and  at  the  end  as  a  very  dangerous  outlaw.  Yet 
these  were  only  the  moods  of  a  sincere  and  simple 
gentleman,  unusual  only  in  his  terrific  strength  of 
character,  which  lacked  the  guidance  ,of  strong  in- 
teUect. 

343 


344  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

I  who  was  his  comrade  saw,  in  my  dim  official 
way,  only  the  humdrum  duties  of  the  police,  and  the 
squalor  of  Indian  decadence.  But  here  in  his  mem- 
oirs, I  realize  for  the  first  time  the  breadth  and 
splendor  of  the  regimental  service,  the  spirituality 
of  the  Indian  character,  and  the  tremendous  majesty 
of  our  wilderness.  Don  Jos6  had  eyes  to  see  that 
we  were  living  an  epic  life  in  the  homeric  age  of 
Canada.  While  I  went  blind,  he  saw  with  heroic 
visioa 

So  having  tamed  his  spelling,  cleared  his  gram- 
mar, and  composed  his  chaotic  chapters  into  narra- 
tive, I  leave  my  humble  task  as  editor,  to  take  up 
the  duties  of  biographer. 

From  his  camp  on  Valdez,  La  Mancha  took  me 
back  by  canoe  to  Comox,  the  terminal  of  the  Van- 
couver Island  Railroad.  During  this  thirty-six-mile 
passage,  I  found  occasion  to  warn  my  friend 
against  an  act  of  folly  on  which  he  had  set  his 
heart  However  unselfish  he  might  be  in  taking 
Rain  home  to  die  among  her  people,  he  had  no 
business  to  risk  a  visit  to  the  Canadian  plains. 
There,  at  any  moment,  he  might  be  recognized 
by  people  who  had  known  him  in  times  past,  even 
by  Inspector  Sarde  or  Red  Saunders,  his  mortal 
enemies.     The  sequel  would  be  his  arrest 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  34S 


"Risk,"  said  he,  "is  the  only  measure  of  value. 
Unless  I  risk  my  money,  my  liberty  or  my  life, 
how  can  I  feel  my  pleasure  in  such  wealth?" 

I  told  him  1  saw  no  gain  it  bo'ng  such  a  damned 
fool. 

"Y01.1  should  learn  to  f  j'*cr  n.;  rh'liy.  Kr\in  and 
I  must  go  to  the  Piegan  ■  .:-  p.  Yui,  :;.  e,  n.  chap, 
the  Wolf  Trail  starts  /.o.n  U  «re,  ^rl  :  ■.01.  t  want 
my  wife  to  take  that  Uail  aluiie" 

"You  want  to  die  with  her?" 

"If  I  may.  At  least,  to  see  i..  -  off  on  her  way 
to  the  Sand  Hills." 

"Where  is  that?"  I  asked,  for  I  had  heard  of 
the  Sand  Hills  as  the  place  of  the  Blackfoot  dead. 

"I  don't  know  where,"  he  answered,  "but  if  you 
think,  you'll  know  that  there  must  be  a  place  of  wait- 
ing where  those  who  rest  are  watching  for  those 
who  suffer." 

"Are  you  sure,"  I  asked  him,  "that  we  outlive 
death?" 

"It  stands  to  reason,  Buckie.  Love  is  God.  There- 
fore, love  is  eternal.  Therefore,  the  love  in  us  is 
our  portion  of  the  eternal.  We  are  like  lamps, 
and  love  is  the  light  we  carry  through  the  dark- 
ness." 

"But  lamps  go  out." 


346  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD- 

"Some  do,  and  some  bum  low,  but  Rain  will  carry 
light  enough  to  see  by  while  she  waits  for  me.  Of 
course,  I  must  go  as  far  as  I  can  with  her." 

"Think  of  the  risk." 

"The  hope." 

I  knew  then  that  nothing  could  deter  him. 

"Is  it  nothing  to  you,"  he  asked,  "that  you  are 
one  of  the  lamps  which  light  the  universe?" 

And  so  we  ^rted. 


i   : 


II 

In  great  content  I  reported  to  the  superintendent 
commanding  for  duty  at  Fort  r  .ench,  and  made  the 
best  I  could  of  Mr.  Sarde  as  a  brother  officer  with 
whom  I  had  little  in  common.     The  orderly-room 
sergeant  was  my  own  friend.  Brat  la  Mancha,  now 
well  healed  of  his  wound  and  free  from  lameness 
«cept  when  he  had  to  limp  in  winter  moccasins.' 
Narrowly  he  had  escaped  being  invalided,  and  being 
a  cnpple,  could  never  be  allowed  to  take  rough  duty 
but  must  content  himself  with  office  work.    Thanks 
to  Jose,  who  yearly  sent  him  half  the  income  from 
Spam,  the  Brat  was  passing  rich,  with  a  fine,  pros- 
perous and  growing  ranch  of  his  own,  to  which  h« 
would  retire  when  it  pleased  him  to  quit  the  force. 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  347 

At  the  post  we  were  agreed  never  to  mention  Jos6 
even  in  whispers,  lest  the  gossips  begin  to  suspect 
that  we  had  a  secret.  Sam,  Mr.  Sarde  and  one  or 
two  very  old  hands  in  the  division,  who  had  known 
Don  Jos6,  believed  him  to  be  dead.  Brat  and  I 
were  silent,  except  when  we  stole  off  together  after 
mountain  trout. 

The  well-oiled  machinery  of  our  routine  found 
more  or  less  truthful  chronicle  in  the  year's  report. 
A  mild  winter  was  making  way  for  an  early  spring 
when,  one  morning,  as  orderly  officer  for  the  week, 
I  sat  working  with  Brat  la  Mancha  in  the  office. 
There  were  papers  to  sign,  applications  for  passes, 
or  sc  ;ne  such  trifles.    Through  the  window  I  could 
see  a  man  ride  in,  the  sergeant  in  charge  at  Stand- 
off, our  outpost  with  the  Blood  tribe,  of  the  Black- 
foot  confederation.    Sergeant  Millard  seemed  in  a 
hiirrj',  and  that  was  quite  unusual,  for  in  the  many 
years  he  had  been  father  confessor  to  the  Bloods, 
the  smooth  perfection  of  his  work  made  life  monot- 
onous.    Now  he  spoke  rapidly  to  the  sergeant  of 
the  guard,  then  with  the  sergeant-major,  who  show- 
ed concern,  and  brought  him  direct  to  the  office. 
There  must  be  events  afoot,  so,  when  they  enter- 
ed, I  asked  the  sergeant-major  to  see  if  the  super- 
intendent commanding  was  at  home. 


348  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Millard  saluted.  "I  thought  it  best  to  report  in 
person,  sir,— a  case  of  murder  and  suicide.  Mr. 
de  Hamel  is  wounded." 

"The  Indian  agent?" 

"Yes,  sir.    Yesterday,  that's  Sunday  the  fifth  in- 
stant, Mr.  de  Hamel  came  over  and  dined  at  the  de- 
tachment. He  mentioned  a  Piegan  family  which  had 
come  in  on  Saturday  from  the  Blackfoot  reservation 
in  Montana.    The  Indian  seemed  a  total  stranger, 
by  all  accounti  well  fixed,  with  a  first-rate  outfit, 
three  women,  and  a  nephew  aged  about  fourteea 
They  had  no  pass,  but  unless  they  asked  for  rations 
Mr.  de  Hamel  felt  that  no  action  was  necessary. 
The  Indian  and  his  nephew  had  gone  off  at  day- 
break, mounted.     The  three  women  remained  in 
camp." 

"Names?"  asked  the  Brat. 

"I've  got  a  memorandum  here,  sir,  with  names 
and  descriptions." 

"All  right,  Sergeant." 

"Mr.  de  Hamel  mentioned  that  the  wife  was  Rain, 
a  well-known  sacred  woman.  Her  medicine  was 
said  to  be  so  strong  that  some  of  the  people  brought 
presents,  but  she  lay  sick  in  the  teepee,  and  the  two 
older  women  said  she  must  not  be  disturbed." 
Murder  and  suicide  I   I  glanced  at  the  Brat,  whose 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  349 

face  was  white  as  chalk,  and  envied  him  the  writing 
which  kept  him  occupied  through  that  long  sus- 
pense. 

"You  may  remember,  sir,"  said  Millard,  "and  Ser- 
geant la  Mancha  here  must  remember,  Saunders, 
Red  Saunders,  in  the  force." 

"Yes.  Go  on."  I  wondered  if  my  v(5ice  was  all 
right. 

"Well,  sir,  there's  been  a  red-haired  hobo  hang- 
ing around,  doing  odd  jobs,  for  some  time  past. 
Called  himself  Redmond.  Drunken  waster,  by  all 
accotmts.  Mr.  de  Hamel  mentioned  that  this  man 
was  a  deserter — Red  Saunders." 

"Did  you  arrest  him?"  I  asked. 

"I  told  De  Hamel  I  would,  sir." 

Deserters  are  useless,  and  our  fellows  prefer  not 
to  catch  them. 

"Well,  sir,  from  later  information,  I  find  that 
Redmond,  alias  Saunders,  was  seen  by  several  wit- 
nesses loafing  around  the  neighborhood  of  that  tee- 
pee, until  just  before  dark,  when  the  old  women 
were  away  for  fire-wood  or  water.  Then  he  went 
in." 

Brat  coughed,  and  still,  through  all  the  years,  I 
hear  that  sound.  His  notes  were  a  mere  pretense. 
Afterward  I  found  he  had  been  drawing  little  owls. 


3SO  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

"According  to  the  boy,  Bears,  he  went  with  his 
unde,  Charging  Buffalo,  to  visit  Many  Horses,  his 
own  father,  camped  at  Bullhorn  Coulee.  On  their 
return  at  dusk.  Charging  Buffalo  handed  the  boy 
his  head-rope  to  take  the  horses  to  pasture.  As 
the  boy  rode  off,  he  saw  his  uncle  in  the  open  door 
of  the  teepe-,  picking  up  an  ax.  He  heard  no 
sounds. 

"From  the  boy's  evidence,  and  from  the  signs, 
this  Indian  must  have  found  the  white  man  assault- 
ing his  woman.  He  came  behind,  and  with  a  single 
stroke  of  the  ax  sliced  Saunders'  head  in  halves, 
leaving  the  blade  where  it  stuck.  Then  he  dragged 
the  body  off  his  woman,  and  found  her  with  both 
hands  clutching  the  haft  of  a  knife.  The  blade 
was  hilt-deep,  and  must  have  entered  her  heart,  for 
she  was  already  dead." 

Brat  was  not  likely  to  stand  much  more  of  this. 
I  sent  him  to  fetch  Sam. 

It  was  well  we  waited  until  Brat  left  the  room,  for 
Sergeant  Millard  gave  particulars  which  even  a 
hardened  sinner  prefers  to  forget. 
"The  knife,  sir." 

So  Millard  laid  on  the  desk  before  me  the  Spanish 
poignard  which  long  ago  I  had  bought  as  a  curiosity 
in  Winnipeg,  used  for  many  years  as  a  paper-cut- 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  351 


ter  while  stationed  at  Prince  Albert,  and  finally 
given  to  Rain  last  summer  as  a  wedding  present 
Now  it  was  black  with  her  blood,  but  it  had  saved 
her  honor.  I  picked  it  up,  forcing  myself  to  in- 
difference. 

"An  Italian  stiletto,  eh?  How  should  an  Indian 
woman  come  by  that?" 

"Italian,  sir?"  asked  Millard. 

"Venetian,"  said  I,  examining  the  hilt.  "Looks 
like  seventeenth  century  work.  People  wore  the 
knives  they  used  at  table." 

"The  Indians,"  was  Millard's  comment,  "have 
kits  of  curios  picked  up  jn  their  wars." 

I  put  the  weapon  down,  and  lighted  a  cigarette, 
proud  that  no  tremor  of  the  hands  betrayed  my 
agitation.  An  Indian  had  murdered  a  white  man — 
that  was  all — and  a  squaw  had  killed  herself.  There 
was  nothing  to  identify  Don  Jose. 

The  sergeant  was  gray  with  fatigue,  and  I  bade 
him  sit  down. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  Indian  had  gone  mad. 
They  do  sometimes.  The  old  woman  came  back  as 
he  left  the  teejiee  carrying  his  rifle,  a  Winchester. 
He  was  loading  as  he  crossed  to  the  agent's  house. 

"Mr.  de  Hamel  says  I.e  was  smoking  his  after- 
supper  cigar  in  the  veranda  when  he  saw  the  Indian 


352  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

coining,  stark  staring  mad.  He  tried  to  get  into 
the  house  for  his  gun,  but  a  bullet  dropped  him  in 
the  doorway.  The  left  femur  was  broken  six  inches 
above  the  knee,  but  Mr.  de  Hamel  managed  to  drag 
himself  into  the  house  and  behind  the  front  door.  It 
opens  ioward.  Charging  Buffalo  went  in  and  look- 
ed round,  but  couldn't  find  the  agent  It  was  after 
dark  then.  After  a  minute  or  two,  he  went  out, 
running  toward  the  pasture  for  his  horse." 

"What  grudge  could  he  have  against  Mr.  de 
Hamel?" 

"The  man  who  had  sheltered  Red  Saunders  ?" 

An  Indian,  a  bear,  or  a  white  man,  will  defend 
his  mate  from  outrage,  and  kill  without  scruple, 
justly.  That  is  unwritten  law  which  needs  no  writ- 
ing. Red  Saunders  had  to  be  killed,  and  the  man 
who  harbored  such  vermin  must  take  the  conse- 
quences. But  what  of  the  law  which  was  bound  to 
avenge  De  Hamel? 

"How  long  was  it.  Sergeant,"  I  asked,  "before 
this  affair  was  reported?" 

"I  found  the  bodies  were  still  warm,"  he  answer- 
ed, "the  scent  still  hot,  if  I'd  had  the  blof^Jhounds 
I  requisitioned.  But  it  was  pitch  dar'  ,  no  moon, 
sky  overcast." 

"Could  you  find  the  tracks  with  a  lantern  ?" 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE    333 

In  weary  scorn,  the  sergeant  retorted,  "A  lan- 
tern?   Too  good  a  target." 

Almighty  Voice,  the  Cree  outlaw,  killed  five  of 
our  men  before  we  brought  up  a  gaa  and  shelled  his 
earthwork.  Sergeant  Millard  was  right  not  to  at- 
tempt half  measures. 

"De  Hamel,"  he  told  me,  "had  arterial  bleeding, 
and  my  first  job  was  to  clap  on  a  tourniquet.  He 
was  pretty  far  gone  when  I  reached  him.  I  sent  an 
Indian,  his  servant,  to  Doctor  Delane,  and  put  a  sen- 
try on  the  house  in  case  the  lunatic  came  back  for 
another  shot.  I  saw  that  Mrs.  De  Hamel  and  the 
children  didn't  expose  themselves  at  lighted  win- 
dows. Next  I  had  to  handle  the  Bloods:  they  were 
getting  excited.  I  couldn't  get  away  imtil  now." 

"You  had  three  constables?" 

"One  on  pass,  one  on  flying  sentry,  and  one  with 
the  interpreter  collecting  information.  At  daylight, 
we  picked  up  the  tracks,  before  the  people  had  them 
trampled,  so  I  know  which  way  the  man  went.  I 
want  a  patrol,  sir." 

"About  this  boy.  Bears.    You  brought  him  in?" 

"He  escaped,  sir." 

I  told  him  to  send  the  sergeant-major,  then  get 
some  food  and  rest  while  he  had  time.  So  I  was  left 
ialone. 


354  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Grown  men  in  my  trade  are  expected  to  keep 
themselves  in  a  state  of  discipline,  but  there  are 
times  when  it  is  best  to  be  alone. 

And  even  in  solitude  we  of  the  North  are  denied 
the  relief  of  tears,  would  rather  sacrifice  the  respect 
of  our  ellows  than  lapse  from  self-respect.  For 
us  there  ;    i"  relief. 

My  fr=  ,d  and  I  had  fought  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der, wit.i  only  death  between  us,  who  needs  no  more 
space  than  a  knife-edge.  Stirrup  to  stirrup  we  had 
ridden  the  long  patrols,  faced  the  shrewd  killing 
blizzards,  and  the  terrific  heat  of  an  unsheltered 
land.  No  word  or  breath  of  discord  had  marred 
the  perfection  of  our  friendship.  To  him  I  owed 
the  contentment  which  made  a  small  career  worth 
living. 

Enviously,  and  yet  with  dread,  I  had  seen  him 
climbing  heights  of  the  life  spiritual  which  I  could 
never  dare.  And  now,  it  seemed,  in  one  tremendous 
downfall  he  was  cast  to  hell.  He  was  mad,  a  homi- 
cidal BwnUc,  to  be  hunted  as  wolves  are  hunted. 

From  that  I  wanted  to  stand  aside,  had  hoped  in 
desperate  anxiety  that  my  commanding  officer  would 
come  quickly  and  take  charge.  But  now  Brat  re- 
turned with  a  stiff  salute  and  the  official  manner  to 
tell  me  that  the  superintendent  commanding  and  Mr. 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  355 

Sarde  were  away,  not  to  be  found.  The  burden 
of  command  waa  on  my  shoulders,  to  set  the  chase 
in  motion  which  was  to  hunt  the  one  person  I  really 
loved. 

I  suppose  Brat  watched  my  mood,  for  suddenly, 
alone  as  we  were,  he  clapped  his  hand  on  my  shoul- 
der. "Buckie,"  he  whispered,  "can't  you  get  blood- 
hounds? Isn't  it  possible,  somehow?  It's  the  only 
hope  ot  getting  him  without  bloodshed.  Hire  them, 
and  if  it  costs  me  my  ranch,  I'll  pay." 

"Where  can  we  get  them?" 

He  drew  back.  "I  don't  know.  One  or  two 
sheriffs  have  them  in  the  states." 

"They  couldn't  send  them  out  of  their  own  dis- 
tricts. And,  Brat— if  our  interests  in  this  business 
got  wind!  No,  we  must  get  Jos6— and  work  up  a 
good  enough  case  for  the  defense.  A  jury  would 
say  it  served  Red  Saunders  right,  and  as  to  De  Ha- 
mel,  he  was  only  wounded." 


ttl 


There  are  so  many  narratives  of  the  famous  man- 
hunt, official,  4)ublished,  suppressed,  or  even  truth- 
ful, that  I  am  cumbered  with  too  much  material. 

The  official  ver.<!ion  may  be  set  aside  as  dull,  a 


3S6  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

record  of  mileage  covered  by  one  hundred  sixty 
horsemen  during  a  period  of  four   lonths.  The  dis- 
trict combed  was  about  ninety  miles  square,  or 
eighty-one  hundred  square  miles  of  foot-hills  and 
plains  complex  with  brush,  with  boulder  tracts,  and 
ravines  affording  plenty  of  cover  to  a  hunted  man. 
My  own  story,  were  I  to  cite  the  details,  would 
explain  a  feverish  industry,  a  craze  for  duty,  a  seek- 
ing and  using  of  even  the  flimsiest  excuses  to  shove 
Mr.  Sarde  out  of  the  hunt,  and  take  his  place  as 
leader  on  the  pdtrols.    In  truth,  I  was  not  concerned 
to  save  my  brother  oflicer  from  overwork,  or  to  win 
his  gratitude,  but  rather  to  avert  a  meeting  between 
Sarde  and  Don  Jos6.    Sarde  had  betrayed  a  woman, 
using  the  mean  device  of  a  sham  wedding;  when 
brought  to  account  by  La  Mancha  in  the  duel  outside 
Fort  Carlton,  the  cad  played  foul;  and  if  my  friend 
met  his  antagonist  in  the  field  he  would  unques- 
tionably kill.     I  would  have  offered  myself  as  La 
Mancha's  second  for  that  just  duel,  but  I  preferred 
a  formal  mannerly  encounter  as  between  gentle- 
men, and  had  reason  to  dislike,  to  prevent  by  all 
means  pcssibb  the  killing  of  Sarde  by  Charging 
Buffalo,  as  a  deed  which  must  bring  my  friend  to 
a  shameful  death  at  the  gallows.     My  main  hope 
in  the  man-hunt  was  to  make  the  arrest  myself. 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  357 

averting  further  bloodshed.    Jos6  would  not  shoot 
me. 

There  are  other  versions  of  the  story,  melodra- 
matic press  reports  which  use  the  facts  as  a  mere 
groundwork  for  building  up  sensation,  but  in  the  in- 
terest of  truth,  I  set  down  here  my  private  notes 
of  what  Don  Jose  told  me.  After  his  capture,  I 
had  the  prisoner  brought  before  me  at  the  orderly 
room,  placed  the  two  sentries  on  guard  outside  the 
building,  produced  a  flask  of  whisky  and  some  cig- 
arettes, then  took  down  a  more  or  less  official  "state- 
ment" for  use  at  the  pending  trial. 

It  was  ever  so  curious  to  see  the  impassive  Indian 
change  at  an  instant  into  the  Spaniard,  the  cavalie., 
amused,  sympathetic.  And  as  the  narrative  went 
on,  he  swung  from  mood  to  mood. 

"Oh,  Buckie,  don't  get  mixed !  I'm  to  be  hanged, 
not  you,  so  why  look  so  damp?  You  blighter,  I 
never  had  such  fun  in  all  my  life.  Tell  the  Society 
for  the  Promotion  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  that  foxes 
invented  hunting.  They  had  merely  to  run  away, 
and  'Tally-ho  I'  the  hunt  was  up  and  out. 

"Shocked,  Buckie?  Does  you  good!  These  last 
years  I  was  getting  to  be  a  prig,  too  precious  high- 
falutin  for  God's  merry  winds  and  laughing,  spark- 
ling sunshine.    I  doubt,  old  chap,  that  the  winged 


MKXOCOPY   (ESOUITION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHAliT  No.  3) 


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^  /APPLIED  \MA3B     Inc 

S^  1653  Cost  Main  Strvet 

-S  RochMler,   N««  YorV         14609       USA 

^=  (716)  483  -  0300  -  Phona 

^S  (716)  288-  5989  -  Fai 


3S8  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

seraphim  are  vain  of  their  pinions  and  their  sing- 
ing, as  any  peacock. 

"The  spiritual  pride  of  Lucifer  hurled  him  wel- 
tering to  damnation.  I  fared  no  better,  and  when 
I  lay  smashed,  I  had  to  feel  myself  all  over,  sur- 
prised I  was  really  me.  I'm  all  the  better  for  being 
real  again. 

"I'm  sorry  for  some  things,  Buckie:  not  for  the 
justice  I  did  to  Saunders,  but  for  the  pain  I  gave 
De  Hamel,  instead  of  a  quick  despatch.    He  earned 
that,  when  he  sent  Saunders  to  my  lodge." 
"He  didn't." 
"That's  all  you  know." 

On  this  one  detail  my  friend  showed  obstinate 
unreason ;  in  all  things  else  sane  as  I  was. 

"Poor  Millard  1"  he  continued.  "With  the  agent 
to  handle,  not  to  mention  the  agent's  missus  and 
the  kids,  no  doctor  to  be  had,  the  Bloods  throwing 
hysterics,  while  all  the  time  he  expected  me  to  call 
and  leave  a  bullet" 
"You  stayed  to  watch." 

"Yes.  Couldn't  miss  the  fun.  Might  have  to 
help  him  with  his  Indians,  too.  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
back  in  the  police,  and  v/hen  it  comes  to  Indian 
versus  whites,  we  all  have  to  show  our  color.  Mill- 
ard's a  real  man. 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  359 

"But  the  properest  hero  was  young  Bears.  He 
dipped  the  wooden  heads  of  his  arrows  in  his  aunt's 
blood,  swearing  great  oaths,  too.  Then  he  painted 
his  face  for  war,  and  came  to  me,  making  bad  medi- 
cine. He  wanted  me  to  raise  the  Blackfoot  nation. 
He  would  lead  the  boys  in  battle.  I  gave  Rain's 
nephew  the  post  of  honor,  to  celebrate  his  aunt's 
funeral,  killing  a  horse  for  her  spirit  to  ride  up  the 
Wolf  Trail.  He  was  to  give  the  grizzly  bearskin, 
your  old  bed,  as  an  offering  to  the  Sun.  Then  he 
was  to  keep  my  standing  camp  at  the  agency,  draw 
and  distribute  rations,  pick  up  and  send  on  the  news, 
and  put  about  rumors  to  fool  police  interpreters.  Oh, 
he's  the  very  broth  of  a  boy  is  Bears.  Pity  he's 
Many  Horses'  son  and  not  mine.  I'd  make  him 
Marquis  de  las  Alpuxarras. 

"When  I'd  made  his  eyes  to  shine  I  streaked  off 
to  my  old  partner.  Many  Horses.  He  took  charge 
of  all  my  Blackfoot  tribe  in  the  diflferent  camps 
where  I'd  placed  them.  He  made  extra  camps  with 
my  two  dear  nursing  scarecrows  in  charge.  That 
made  six  camps,  each  with  a  bunch  of  ponies  from 
which  I  could  draw  my  remounts.  The  Piegans 
sent  me  horses.  Now,  own  up,  Buckie — didn't  I 
give  the  old  troop  exercise?" 
Indeed  he  did! 


36o  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


"I  don't  think  much  of  white  men's  tactics,  Buckie. 
You  wasted  half  you  strength  on  pickets  at  Whis- 
ky Gap  and  the  Rocky  ^lountain  passes." 

"Sam  thought,"  said  I,  "that  being  an  Indian, 
you'd  stay  in  the  district,  where  you  had  lots  of 
help.  I  thought  that,  being  a  white  man,  you'd 
skin  out  for  the  states.    I  didn't  say  so." 

"I  thought,"  said  Don  Jose,  "as  a  sort  of  mongrel 
white-Indian  that  before  I  cleared  for  Spain  I'd  bet- 
ter arrange  the  future  for  my  scarecrows,  my  little 
Bears,  my  brother.  Many  Horses,  and  all  my  rag- 
tag and  bobtail  pensioners.  But,  when  I  tried  to  do 
business,  they  always  blubbered  until  I  had  to  run." 

"Why  didn't  you  leave  the  business  to  the  Brat, 
or  me  ?" 

"And  sacrifice  you  both  to  save  my  tribe,  eh? 
Poor  sport  to  make  my  brother  and  my  chum  accom- 
plices in  murder." 

So  he  had  stayed  in  the  district  with  his  depot 
camps  and  relays  of  ponies.  The  Indians  were 
his  intelligence  department,  keeping  him  constantly 
advised  by  signal-fires  and  smokes,  by  cypress  mess- 
ages on  rocks  or  trees,  or  by  verbal  reports  which 
told  him  our  every  movement.  I  remember  one 
patrol,  when  I  had  twenty  men  for  seventy  hours  in 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  361 


the  saddle,  until  in  sheer  exhaustion  we  were  com- 
pelled to  camp  at  Big  Bend  detachment.  Then  came 
a  rider  flying  to  report  that  Charging  Buffalo  had 
just  been  seen  at  Kootenay.  We  white  men  rallied 
for  the  twenty-eight-mile  march,  but  our  Indians 
lay  and  were  kicked,  done  for,  refusing  to  move. 
We  left  them,  and  went  off  reeling. 

On  another  occasion,  a  Mormon  farmer  brought 
news  that,  while  he  was  cutting  fence  rails,  Char,j- 
jng  Buffalo  had  crept  out  from  the  bush,  and  made 
off  with  his  lunch.  Smoldering  for  revenge,  the 
man  led  us  through  the  timber  to  a  small  opening 
where  we  found  and  surrounded  a  tent.  o  m;n 
covered  the  entrance  with  their  revolver.^,  while  I 
pulled  aside  the  flap  disclosing  a  couple  of  Mormons 
in  a  shaking  funk. 

Farther  on,  in  the  gray  of  dawn,  we  found  an- 
other clearing,  and  a  second  tent.  Here  Marmot,  one 
of  my  friend's  pet  scarecrows,  who  had  ridden  with 
him  for  many  a  weary  day,  heard  our  approach, 
looked  out  and  screamed. 

"Oh,  I  remember  that!"  said  Charging  Buffalo, 
"and  Marmot  had  a  screech  like  a  deep-sea  tug.  I 
ripped  the  back  of  the  tent  with  my  knife,  rolled 
through,  and  got  to  cover  just  in  time  to  escape  a 


362  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

volley.  But  I  was  half  asleep  still,  or  I'd  never 
have  missed  the  officer's  head.  Was  that  you, 
Buckie?" 

I  showed  him  the  hole  through  my  hat.    "You 
knocked  it  off,"  said  I. 

"You're  an  awfully  bad  shot,  Buckie,"  was  his 
comment,  "or  you'd  have  got  me  that  time.  As 
to  your  men,  they  panicked  and  let  their  guns  kick 
high.  You  should  have  steadied  them  with  coffee, 
for  dawn  fightiijg."  Then  he  groaned,  tallying  on 
his  fingers,  "A  carcass  of  Bill  Cochrane's  beef, 
twenty-five  pounds  of  bacon,  five  sacks  of  flour,  and 
one  of  sugar,  a  deerskin  for  making  moccasins,  an 
A  tent,  and  the  Marmot  I  missed  taem  horribly. 
And  ne.\t  week  Sarde  recaptured  Bears,  riding  des- 
patches. All  my  rag-tag  and  bobtail  tril*  caught 
and  imprisoned,  too.  Many  Horses  was  taken  with 
his  wife  and  the  two  little  girls.  Yes,  I'd  only  one 
helper  left,  poor  Makes-your-hair-gray,  who  was 
mostly  talk.  She  and  I  took  to  following  your  pa- 
trols, so  as  to  get  a  sleep  when  you  camped,  which 
wasn't  often.  I  used  to  think  you  fellows  must  be 
haunted  by  remorse,  for  you  never  gave  me  time 
for  a  decent  nap.  Once,  when  you'd  left  two 
horses  for  dead,  we  had  to  ride  them  an  extra  forty 
miles;  and  even  Makes-your-hair-gray  was  too  tired 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  363 

to  grumble.  Oh,  do  you  remember  when  the  cor- 
poral at  Boundary  Creek  gave  ju  a  feed,  while 
Makes-your-hair-gray  stole  tb  lorses  out  of  the 
stable?" 

"Fyfe,"  said  I,  "was  mad  as  a  wet  hen." 

"So  was  Makes-your-hair-gray.  Fyfe's  horse 
bucked  her  off.  Yes,  and  after  that  all  the  police 
stables  were  locked  and  guarded,  so  we  couldn't 
get  any  remounts.  Call  that  sporting?  You  fel- 
lows had  no  sense  of  decency.  I  remember  once,  at 
— oh,  yes,  at  Lee's  Creek,  the  corporal  came  swag- 
gering along  with  a  lantern,  and  I  tried  to  put  it 
out,  from  behind  the  horse-trough." 

"Yes,  the  bullet  whisked  through  Corporal  Ar- 
mour's sleeve.  He  ran  for  his  gun,  but  you  were 
off  at  a  gallop." 

"Nice  chap  that,"  said  Charging  Buffalo.  "I  liked 
him,  but  I  really  needed  a  remount. 

"When  I  was  a  little  boy  there  used  to  be  a  story 
in  a  book,  all  about  Pussie  on  the  Road  to  Ruin,  a 
bad  cat  who  took  to  evil  courses,  just  like  me,  and 
met  with  a  horrid  end,  tied  to  a  brick  in  a  duck- 
pond.  Buckie,  you  know  the  Boulders  ?  They  say 
Chief  Mountain  was  cross  and  threw  them  at  his 
wife.  Well,  Pussie  was  riding  along  under  the  Boul- 
ders (on  the  Road  to  Ruin)  where  there  wasn't  any 


364  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

snow  to  make  tracks  in.  It  was  ;  grim  gray  day, 
and  Pussie  was  very,  very  miserable,  riding  a  rotten 
old  screw  he'd  stole  from  the  Lazy  H  outfit 

"Pussie's  legs  had  swelled  up  with  too  much  ex- 
ercise. Pussie  hadn't  any  cat's-meat  left  to  eat.  Pus- 
sie's last  helper  had  been  put  in  prison.  Pussi"; 
hadn't  had  a  cat  nap  for  three  or  four  days,  ana  you 
know  that  bad  cats  are  more  miserable  than  good 
cats,  especially  when  they're  wet.    Very  cross,  too. 

"And  in  the  Ten  Commandments  it  says  you  must 
keep  the  Sabbath — there's  not  a  word  about  cat- 
hunts.  Why,  even  foxes,  in  decent  countries  like 
England,  can  go  to  church  on  Sundays  if  they  want 
to. 

"Besides,  it  was  just  like  Sarde's  cheek  to  ride 
Black  Prince.  He  was  a  picture  of  sin  on  horse- 
back, anyway.    He  had  a  buck  policeman  with  him." 

"Amber,"  said  L 

"And  a  scout-interpreter." 

"Green-Grass-growing-in-the-water,"  said  I. 

"And  a  body  of  Indians." 

"They'd  new  rifles,"  said  I,  "all  clogged  with  fac- 
tory grease,  and  frozen  so  the  pin  couldn't  hit  the 
cartridge.  Sarde  sent  Amber  back  twenty  miles  to 
Pincher  Creek  to  turn  out  all  settlers  in  the  Queen's 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  365 


name;  then  fire  off  a  despatch  here  to  French,  and 
take  out  his  citizens  to  surround  yoti — all  at  full 
gallop." 

"Silly.  Snow  much  too  deep.  Black  Prince  Came 
finely,  though,  romping  along  through  the  drifts, 
with  Sarde  yelling  back  at  his  Indians." 

"Sarde  ordered  them  not  to  fire,  or  they  might 
hit  him  by  mistake." 

"Was  that  the  trouble?  Wish  they  had!  Well, 
along  came  Sarde,  despising  Indians,  drawing 
abreast  of  me." 

"With  orders  to  shoot  at  sight." 

"Orders?  Orders  be  darned!  Laid  his  revolver 
across  his  thighs,  going  to  make  his  arrest  with  a 
propah  swaggah,  damme !" 

"Own  to  it,  La  Mancha.    A  brave  man  I" 

"Why  not?  Else  what  was  he  doing  in  God's 
Own  First  Dragoons  ?  'Hello !'  says  I,  as  he  drew 
abreast,  'how's  Sarde-the-Coward  ?'  " 

"He  reeled  as  though  I'd  shot  him. 

"  'Remember  Carlton,  Sarde  ?  And  your  unfinish- 
ed duel  with  Don  Jose  ?' 

"He  v/ent  gray  at  that,  but  closed  in  on  my  pfif 
side. 

"  'I  told  you,  Sarde,  at  Carlton,  I'd  fire  at  the 


m 


Hi.: 


'1 


I 


366  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

word  "three."  I  gave  you  two,  and  you  shot  me, 
you  cad.  Now  get  your  gun,  and  ask  God's  mercy, 
for  you'll  have  none  from  me.' 

"He  shouted,  dry-mouthed,  hoarse,  like  a  neigh- 
ing stallion.  We  were  abreast  now,  and  my  rifle 
lay  across  my  knees,  my  left  hand  on  the  trigger,  the 
barrel  pointing  under  my  right  arm.  I  held  the  rein 
high  in  the  right.  Sarde  was  leaning  over  to  grab 
at  my  right  shoulder. 

"  'Get  your  guii,'  I  yelled  at  him.  'One!  Two!' 
I  had  to  swerve,  or  he'd  have  hauled  me  out  of 
the  saddle.  'Three !'  And  I  let  drive  through  him. 
That  finished  our  duel,  and  put  the  sland'.:rer  to 
an  end." 

"He  never  used  his  revolver,"  I  explained. 
"Ashamed  to  need  a  weapon,  arresting  by  hand  after 
the  grandest  tradition  of  the  force,  knowing  you  to 
be  his  enemy,  and  facing  certain  death  to  do  his 
duty.    That  man  died  a  hero!" 

La  Mancha  looked  about  the  office,  to  the  door 
and  the  windows,  and  the  orders  posted  above  me 
on  the  wall.  Then  his  eyes,  avoiding  mine,  looked 
down  at  his  shackled  hands.  I  had  to  fight  back 
tears.  So  he  looked  up  with  that  queer  writhen 
smile  of  his,  and,  just  as  once  before  long  years 
ago,  when  I  had  tried  to  put  him  in  the  wrong, 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  367 


"Buckie,"  he  wailed,  "please  say  I'm  not  a  boun- 
der 1" 

"Not  a  bounder,"  I  almost  sobbr--. 

La  Mancha's  bullet  had  passed  through  Sarde's 
body,  then,  deflecting  on  the  humerus  of  the  extend- 
ed right  arm,  traversed  the  forearm,  came  out  of 
the  palm,  and  dropped  into  his  gauntlet.  Slowly  the 
dead  man  rolled  from  the  saddle,  while  Black  Prince 
loped  on,  and  the  outlaw  went  beside  him.  Then 
the  horse  pulled  up,  snorting,  and  when  La  Mancha 
came  grabbing  at  the  loose  rein.  Black  Prince  reared 
up,  striking  with  his  forefeet  in  blind  rage  at  his 
master's  murderer. 

"He  didn't  know  me,"  said  my  friend  in  bitter- 
ness.   "My  old  horse  had  forgotten  me." 

So  came  that  most  extraordinary  fight  for  mas- 
tery between  man  and  horse,  watched  by  the  In- 
dians, pursuing  and  closing  in  on  every  side.  Their 
rifles  were  for  the  time  useless,  and  to  that  accident 
La  Mancha  owed  his  escape,  riding  away  on  Black 
Prince  until,  a  tiny  speck  upon  the  snow-field,  he 
went  down  beyond  the  sky-lii  *. 

"Whining,"  La  Mancha  said  grimly,  "must  be  a 
comfort.  Remorse  is  prescribed  for  sinners,  and 
abject  prayer  is  supposed  to  be  a  grace. 

"According  to  the  standards  of  this  age,  I  ought 


368  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


i 


to  have  sued  for  damages,  and  trusted  tny  honor 
to  the  sharp  tongues  of  a  pack  of  barristers."  He 
chuckled  softly. 

"So  I  was  in  the  wrong.  Sarde  was  a  hero  to  all 
the  whites,  and  all  the  Indians.  When  he  betrayed 
a  woman  he  did  it  in  private,  so  I  killed  him  openly 
in  public — and  I'm  a  villain.  What  can  you  expect 
of  a  mere  Blackguard? 

"Oh,  I  had  put  myself  in  the  wrong,  there  was 
no  explaining.  The  Blackfoot  nation  said  I  was  in 
the  wrong,  and  they  should  know.  They  turned 
their  back)  on  me  for  killing  Sarde.  The  govern- 
ment offered  two  hundred  dollars  for  me,  the  officer 
commanding  added  fifty,  which  shows  I  was  two 
hundred  and  fifty  times  a  scoundrel.  I  was  lonely, 
too,  with  no  friends  left  in  sight,  and  an  awful  mis- 
giving that  the  plague  of  respectability  had  infected 
the  Angels  in  Heaven,  who  were  having  their  pin- 
ions clipped  for  fear  of  being  thought  improper. 

"Thou  shalt  do  no  murder!  It  was  Sarde's  life 
or  mine.  Heads,  he  got  made  superintendent ;  tails, 
I  went  to  the  gallows,  and  he  had  fifteen  Indians  to 
see  fair  play. 

"Thou  shalt  not  kill!  God  gives  thee  grinding 
teeth  instead  of  fangs,  and  tender  finger-nails  instead 
of  talons — ^battles  to  fight  without  the  armor  or 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  369 


any  natural  weapons;  a  spirit  made  for  soaring — 
but  no  wings  I 

"The  honor  of  women  is  more  sacred  in  the  sight 
of  God  than  the  lives  I  took,  and  if  He  made  a 
gentleman,  He  expects  the  services  of  knighthood 
from  His  feudatory. 

"Last  night,  as  I  lay  there  in  my  cell,  chained 
to  the  floor,  a  man  on  guard,  some  poor  recruit, 
fancied  I'd  given  too  much  needless  trouble  to  him 
and  to  the  troop.     He  kicked  me  in  the  face." 

"Tell  me  which  man,"  said  I,  "or  I'll  h'-ve  the 
whole  guard  punished." 

"The  years  he  has  to  live  will  punish  him.  If 
you  take  actions,  Buckie,  I  shall  deny  what  I  told 
you.    There's  been  enough  vengeance." 

From  the  killing  of  Sarde,  La  Mancha  had  ridden 
into  a  world  turned  hostile.  The  tribes  decided  that 
his  body  belonged  by  Indian  law  to  the  white  men, 
and  he  must  expect  no  mercy,  or  help,  or  succor 
from  any  living  creature. 

"Many  Horses  believed,"  he  said,  "that  his  two 
young  men,  Left  Hand  and  Bear  Paw,  would  stand 
by  me  if  every  other  friend  had  failed.  I  went  to 
their  cabin,  and  tied  Black  Prince  to  a  bush.  I 
couldn't  stand,  so  I  crept  across  to  the  door.  They 
heard  me,  but  when  Left  Hand  came  out  through 


!'i 


370  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

the  door,  I  saw  something  wrong  in  his  eyes.  I 
tried  to  get  back  to  my  horse  and  escape;  but  he 
threw  his  arms  around  me,  lifted  me  to  my  feet, 
and  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks.  Then  Bear  Paw 
stole  behind  and  roped  rae,  so  thac  I  fell  down.  He 
threw  running  half -hitches  along  the  rope,  lashed 
my  arms  to  my  body,  and  my  feet  together.  They 
carried  me  into  the  cabin,  and  pitched  me  down  in  a 
comer.  Left  Hand  rode  off  on  Black  Prince  to  fetch 
the  police,  while  Eiear  Paw  mounted  guard.  I  sup- 
pose they  got  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
between  them. 

"Still,  I  hoped  to  escape.  They  had  been  mending 
moccasins,  and  left  an  awl  on  the  floor.  I  managed 
to  open  an  artery. 

"But  that  sergeant  came  too  soon,"  he  added,  his 
voice  breaking,  "and  twice  since  then  I  failed. 

"The  spirits  of  my  fathers  have  to  be  faced  at 
night — when  the  sentry  is  pacing  his  beat  outside, 
and  the  moon-ray  points  like  a  finger  at  the  time. 
Jose,  Marquis  of  the  Alpuxarras,  hanged ! 

"So  I  pray,  while  the  sentry  marches,  and  turns, 
and  comes  back,  beating  out  the  hours;  while  the 
moon-ray  sweeps  like  the  hand  of  a  clock  across 
the  darkness,  through  the  long  nights  and  the  long 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  371 

days.    God  will  send  me  means  to  come  to  Him  for 
judgment" 


IV 

For  four  months  the  troop  had  hunted  Charging 
Buffalo,  had  been  put  to  derision  by  the  tricks 
he  played  us,  to  shame  by  his  extraordinary  scout- 
craft,  daring  and  endurance.  The  gibes  of  civilians, 
the  fleering  press,  the  lessened  respect  of  the  Black- 
feet  drove  our  men  to  such  a  pitch  of  exasperation 
that  once  they  had  the  prisoner  in  their  power  their 
only  feeling  was  one  of  bitter  rage. 

Three  times  he  made  most  ingenious  attempts  at 
suicide, — clear  proof  he  was  in  earnest.  Shackled 
to  bolts  in  the  floor,  as  the  only  possible  means  of 
preventing  self-destruction,  his  state  was  so  piteous 
that  all  men's  hearts  were  moved.  Then  the  fellows 
began  to  notice  that  he  seemed  to  know  what  sort 
of  dance  he  led  them  of  extra  duty,  that  he  had  an 
odd  quaint  smile  of  sympathy  for  their  troubles, 
that  though  he  had  no  word  of  English  he  was  quick 
to  realize  little  ways  of  making  things  easier  for 
them.  They  began  to  like  him,  to  bring  him  cig- 
arettes and  such  luxuries  as  they  could  buy,  and  to 


372  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

be  very  tender  with  the  dressings  of  his  legs,  both 
skinned  from  heel  to  groin  by  his  constant  riding. 
They  knew  he  suffered  excruciating  pain,  they  saw 
his  gay  courage,  and  in  the  end  they  loved  him. 

The  Brat,  who  had  been  the  blithest  man  in  the 
barracks,  appeared  to  be  ill,  dragging  himself 
through  the  day's  routine,  pallid  and  listless.  He 
claimed  to  be  well,  and  the  doctor  could  find  no 
symptoms  beyond  the  need  of  a  furlough,  which 
Brat  refused  with  oaths.    He  was  given  tonics. 

Sam  was  annoyed  by  the  capsizal  of  his  year's 
setting  up  drills,  and  tours  of  inspection,  yet  treat- 
ed the  prisoner  better  than  rules  allowed,  and  growl- 
ed at  the  doctor  for  failing  to  get  the  man  fatter. 
No  host  likes  thin  guests — and  this  veritable  skele- 
ton in  our  closet  reflected  upon  our  hospitality. 

Because  I  knew  something  of  the  Blackfoot  lan- 
guage, because  openly  I  had  taken  the  prisoner's  part 
from  the  beginning,  and  because  Charging  Buffalo 
would  have  no  man  else  for  counsel,  I  was  allowed 
to  defend  him  at  the  trial.  But  when  I  tried  to 
show  him  that  his  only  possible  plea  was  insanity, 
he  refused  to  have  me  as  advocate  until  I  changed 
my  mind.  Still,  under  pretext  of  examining  wit- 
nesses, with  Brat's  ready  help  in  cash  I  was  able  to 
set  my  friend's  affairs  in  order,  and  pensioned  off 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  373 


the  rag-tag  and  bobtail  tribe.  Being,  so  to  speak, 
a  brevet  barrister  for  the  trial  I  had  for  my  junior 
a  veritable  and  learned  scalawag  who  had  eaten 
his  dinners  at  the  Middle  Temple.  Since  then  he 
had  risen  in  life  as  a  constable,  to  be  Sam's  last 
promising  young  tean-ster.  Once  with  the  Viceroy 
and  Vice-reine  of  Canada  for  his  passengers,  he 
drowned  his  near  wheeler  in  a  spate  of  Belly  River ; 
but  stood  on  the  seat  like  a  charioteer,  pouring  law 
and  blacksnake  whip  into  his  swimming  horses,  un- 
til they  dragged  the  wagonette,  dead  mare  and  all, 
up  the  far  bank  into  safety.  Now,  finding  himself 
no  longer  briefless  in  his  old  profession,  he  drove 
through  the  village  in  his  wig  and  gown,  amid  scenes 
of  tremendous  public  enthusiasm.  Of  course  he  was 
punished,  and  naturally  his  wig  was  barred  from  a 
Canadian  assize,  where  such  things  are  not  worn; 
but  still  he  made  me  a  jolly  good  junior,  driving 
me  like  a  team  through  formidable  rites  and  un- 
known ceremonies. 

More  difficult  to  deal  with  than  the  actual  case 
was  Brat  la  Mancha,  who  insisted  upon  attending 
at  the  trial.  He  could  not  be  persuaded  to  keep 
away  until  I  showed  him  how  his  presence  in  the 
court  would  weaken  Don  Jose,  perhaps  break  down 
his  nerve,  and  lead  him  to  full  confession.     The 


374  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

prisoner's  race,  his  nationality  and  rank  were  not 
matters  of  public  concern,  had  not  the  slightest  bear- 
ing on  the  evidence  of  capital  felonies,  and  were 
rightfully  matters  of  private  concern,  to  be  kept 
secret  A  confession  would  expose  his  gallant  broth- 
er to  shame,  and  drag  his  great  name  in  the  dirt 
to  no  advantage.  But  the  keeping  of  the  secret  made 
the  trial  for  me  a  strain  to  the  verge  of  my  endur- 
ance, one  long  agony.  My  nerve  was  gone  to  rage 
before  the  court  cbnvened.  Of  course  I  had  been 
chaffed  by  every  man  I  knew. 

We  had  what  are  known  as  "words,"  amounting 
even  to  "language,"  when  counsel  prosecuting  for 
the  Crown  objected  to  me  strongly  peisonally  and 
with  venom  as  having  no  right  to  appear  for  the 
prisoner. 

"It  is  true,"  said  the  judge,  "that  a  layman  may 
not  address  the  court,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
prisoner's  next  friend  has  the  right  to  help  him 
with  his  defense." 

Prompted  by  my  junior,  I  turned  to  rend  the  pro- 
secuting counsel,  challenged  his  claim  to  be  a  Brit- 
ish subject,  demanded  his  papers  of  naturalization, 
and  said  he  had  no  right  to  appear  in  any  court  save 
a  back  yard: 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  375 

"The  learned  .counsel,"  said  the  judge,  "has  been 
called  to  the  Canadian  bar." 

He  then  turned  up  and  cited  "Pot  versus  Kettle." 

Next  I  impugned  the  right  of  the  judge  himself 
to  try  an  Indian. 

"The  prisoner,"  I  said,  "is  by  treaty  not  sub- 
ject to  any  authority  save  that  of  his  tribal  chief. 
Her  Majesty  the  Queen  has  made  treaty  with  the 
chief  as  an  allay,  an  equal  sovereign,  whose  men  are 
not  citizens  or  subjects  of  the  Dominion." 

The  judge  told  me  not  to  talk  rot,  or  words  to 
that  effect,  so  I  gave  notice  of  appeal  to  the  judicial 
committee  of  the  Privy  Council.  That  bluff  gave 
the  jury  a  fine  sense  of  importance,  and  impressed 
His  Honor,  the  fine  old  humorist  on  the  bench,  as  a 
piece  of  delightful  cheek. 

Here  followed  a  slight  pause,  while  the  prisoner 
whispered  to  his  advocate,  presumably  in  Black- 
foot,  "Sick  'em,  Buckie!  Bite  'em!  Go  for  'em! 
Tear  'em  and  eat  'em!" 

"Shut  up,"  said  counsel,  "or  you'll  give  the  whole 
show  away."    Then,  addressing  the  court: 
"The  prisoner  pleads  guilty." 
Still  too  weak  to  stand,  Charging  Buffalo  sat  in 
the  dock,  chained,  with  two  constables  armed  for  a 


376  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

guard.  His  reputation  carried  terror  still,  and  press- 
men made  good  copy  of  his  eagle  features,  his  wolf- 
ish smile.  "A  typical  redskin  warrior,"  they  called 
him,  and  with  hints  implied  the  lie  that  he  had  scalp- 
ed his  victims. 

Now  the  prosecution  called  its  witnesses,  Mr.  de 
Hamel  and  his  wife,  sundry  settlers,  many  of  the 
police,  various  Indians  dealt  with  through  the  offi- 
cial interpreter.  |With  dry  sardonic  humor,  the 
prisoner  asked  through  me  his  pungent  questions. 
All  that  the  Crown  suggested  as  to  the  prisoner's 
malice,  ferocity  and  methods  of  terrorism  collapsed, 
and  one  by  one  I  saw  the  jurors  take  the  weaker 
side.  Left  Hand  and  Bear  Paw;  who  had  taken 
money  to  betray  their  friend,  had  to  confront  him 
now,  while  in  their  own  tongue  he  made  them  con- 
fess how  the  one  had  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks 
while  the  other  stole  behind  him  with  a  rope.  They 
flinched  as  though  from  a  whip,  their  faces  turned 
gray,  they  shrank,  they  held  up  their  hands  to  shield 
their  eyes,  while  word  for  word  I  translated  to  a 
court  horrified,  and  a  disgusted  jury. 

"Tell  the  white  chief,"  said  my  client,  "that  Black 
Robes  have  taught  me  about  the  white  man's  cus- 
toms. There  was  a  chief  medicine  man  of  their 
tribe  who  gave  thirty  dollars  to  a  white  man  by  the 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  377 

name  of  Judas,  who  went  to  his  master  and  kissed 
Him  on  both  cheeks.  Even  the  white  man  was 
ashamed,  and  hanged  himself. 

'Here  is  the  white  man's  custom.  Left  Hand 
was  paid  to  kiss  me  on  both  cheeks,  while  Bear  Paw 
roped  me.  Did  they  get  the  thirty  dollars  each,  or 
thirty  dollars  between  them?" 

"Tell  the  prisoner,"  said  the  judge,  "that  we  can 
not  expect  him  to  understand  our  customs." 

This  I  translated. 

"Then,"  answered  Charging  Buffalo,  "if  I'm  not 
expected  to  understand  your  customs,  am  I  to  be 
hanged  for  breaking  them?" 

"I  think,"  said  the  judge  to  me,  "that  this  is  quite 
out  of  order.  You  will  please  abstain  from  the 
methods  of  cheap  melodrama." 

But  that  crushing  retort  of  the  Indian,  arraign- 
ing our  justice,  left  the  whole  court  demoralized, 
for  the  prisoner  sat  in  judgment.  With  a  grave 
sweetness  he  turned  to  the  witness  who  had  betrayed 
him.  "You  may  go,"  he  said,  "and  take  my  pity 
with  you." 

It  was  then  he  told  his  story,  while  I  translated. 
He  called  no  witness  for  the  prosecuting  counsel  to 
browbeat,  he  made  no  plea  of  innocence,  he  asked 
no  mercy.    Rather,  he  dwelt  upon  the  Indian  faitH 


378  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

which  sent  him  to  worship  his  God  in  the  far  wilder- 
ness until  the  sacred  woman,  his  wife,  began  to  die. 
He  brought  her  back  to  die  among  her  people. 

"Her  spirit  rides  the  Wolf  Trail,"  he  said,  "that 
big  trail  across  the  star-field  which  leads  to  the  Place 
of  Waiting,  and  there  I  shall  go.  Life  is  too  diffi- 
cult to  live,  and  death  so  easy." 

A  coming  rain-storm  filled  the  western  sky,  hiding 
the  sun,  then  darkening  the  air  until  one  could  hardly 
see  across  the  court  iroom.  The  judge's  clerk  lighted 
candles. 

The  patter  of  rain  blended  now  with  the  prisoner's 
quiet  voice,  the  flicker  of  sheet  lightning  revealed 
his  face  and  the  gray  hair  braided  down  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"Think  of  me,"  he  said,  "not  as  red  or  black,  or 
white,  but  as  a  man.  The  same  light  shines  upon 
us  all,  and  where  the  sun  is  high  the  folks  are  black, 
and  where  the  sun  is  low  the  folks  are  white;  but 
high  sun  or  low  sun,  we  children  of  the  .sun  are  all 
one  household.  There  is  one  Father  whose  light 
fills  the  sky,  who  makes  us  what  we  are :  sons,  lovers 
of  women,  parents  of  little  children.  Because  we 
worship  our  Father  up  there  above,  because  we  obey 
Him,  because  we  are  what  He  made  us,  each  man- 
child  of  the  skies  must  protect  his  women  from  out- 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  379 

rage,  must  fend  for  the  weak  and  helpless,  must 
giaard  the  life  he  holds  because  it  belongs  to  those 
who  love  and  trust  him,  must  hate  betrayers,  must 
despise  a  liar.  That  is  the  law  above  all  other  laws, 
above  all  chiefs,  councils  and  tribes  of  men,  which 
you  must  obey,  big  chief  up  there  on  the  high  seat, 
and  you  two  warriors  on  guard,  and  you  men  who 
sit  waiting  to  send  me  to  death  or  slavery. 

"My  friend  here  who  speak?  for  me  says  that  if 
a  negro  attacks  one  of  your  white  women,  you  burn 
him  at  the  stake.  That  is  good.  If  an  Indian  at- 
tacks a  white  woman,  you  kill  him.  That  is  good. 
If  a  white  man  attacks  my  wife,  I  kill  him.  Is  that 
wrong?  When  I  heard  her  calling  to  me  for  help, 
should  I  leave  her  to  her  fate  and  fetch  a  policeman? 
Would  you?  The  bears  and  cougars,  the  wolves 
and  dogs  know  better  than  that.  Are  you  lower 
than  the  common  curs  of  the  camp— you  who  dare  to 
blame  a  man  for  his  manhood?  Shame  on  you, 
your  court,  your  laws  which  defend  the  filthy  beast 
I  killed,  and  condemn  me  for  being  a  man ! 

"I  killed  this  beast  with  an  ax,  too  late  to  save 
my  wife.  She  died  of  her  own  hand  to  escape  dis- 
honor. That  is  the  right  and  duty  of  all  clean 
women.  If  your  wives  failed  to  do  that,  you  would 
almost  die  of  shame." 


38o     THE  CHEERFXJL  BLACKGUARD 

The  rain  awept  down  in  torrents,  but  the  prisoner's 
voice,  with  its  soft  resonance,  now  seemed  to  fill 
the  darkness.  We  could  scarcely  see  him  in  the 
deep  shadow,  but  the  judge  and  his  clerk  at  the 
table  had  their  candle-light. 

"The  horrible  mad  beast  I  killed  was  called  Red 
Saunders.  It  is  known  that  he  stole  a  white  man's 
wife,  and  left  her  to  die  in  shame.  It  is  known  to 
the  Indian  women  that  he  was  dangerous,  and  ought 
to  have  been  killed.'  But  he  belonged  to  a  powerful 
white  chief,  the  Indian  agent,  who  sheltered  him, 
fed  him,  used  him  as  a  servant,  and  allowed  him 
loose  to  outrage  Indian  women.  He  was  more  dan- 
gerous than  a  grizzly  bear,  allowed  to  range  the 
camp  without  a  'hain  or  muzzle.  If  the  Indians 
complained  of  that,  the  white  men  would  only  have 
laughed — ^as  you  are  laughing  now!" 

The  rain  ceased  as  it  began,  with  startling  abrupt- 
ness; the  sky  was  clearing,  and  as  the  light  increased 
we  saw  the  prisoner  lying  back  in  his  chair,  his 
face  lean  with  privation,  lined  with  pain,  his  eyes 
closed,  his  lips  drawn,  smiling,  as  he  spoke  with 
gentle  tolerance: 

"Was  this  a  laughing  matter  for  my  wife  when 
she  cried  for  help  and  no  help  came;  when  she  took 
the  knife  from  her  belt  and  plunged  it  into  her  body 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  381 

— until  her  heart's  blood,  spurting,  drenched  her  ten- 
der, childish,  little  brown  hands? 

"Laugh!  For  tears  are  weak  things,  drops  of 
salty  water,  running  to  mere  waste;  but  laugh  ;r  is 
like  a  crackling  fire  flaming  up  to  God!  Laugh,  for 
the  sun  is  laughing  above  the  clouds,  our  God  who 
sees  what  little  troubles  give  us  so  much  pain." 

He  raised  himself,  his  eyes  alight  with  a  strange 
fire,  his  voice  quivering  with  passion. 

"Do  you  blame  the  blade,  or  the  hand  that  drives 
it?  Do  you  blame  the  wild  beast,  or  the  man  that 
keeps  it?  Do  you  blame  the  man,  or  the  God 
who  rules  him? 

"I  blame,  not  the  beast  I  killed,  but  the  man  who 
owned  it.  And  if  I  shot  that  man  for  owning  such 
a  beast,  blame  God  for  making  me  what  I  am,  the 
hand  which  wielded  justice! 

"If  you  want  peace,  don't  drive  brave  men  to  war. 
If  you  want  war,  don't  be  surprised  at  the  killing. 
Hear  the  low  thunder  rolling,  see  the  air  quiver  with 
white  light :  the  flash  and  roar  of  storms  come  out 
of  clouds,  the  passion  and  death  of  men  come  from 
injustice.  Deal  justly  with  men  and  there  will  be 
no  slaying. 

"Was  I  not  driven  to  fight,  and  goaded  like  a  bear 
until  I  turned  at  bay,  hunted  by  day  and  night 


3to   ,THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 


through  four  moons,  until  I  did  not  care  if  I  fought 
a  mere  hundred  men  or  a  tribe,  or  the  whole  world? 

"AVhat  if  I  killed  a  chief;  Should  I  kill  mere 
followers?  I  killed  a  chief  in  i,  x  of  all  his  men, 
aiiu  t  the  rest  get  off.  Why  did  1  not  kill  more, 
when  I  had  scores  at  my  mercy  in  that  long  hunt- 
ing r 

He  lay  back  wearily,  sighing. 

"It  is  done.  I  am  finished.  War  is  a  fire  burn- 
ing a  man's  bloc^,  a  great  blazing  of  life — but  I  am 
burned  out,  to  ashes. 

"My  horses  werr  taken  from  me,  my  poor  ser- 
vants. There  was  no  food.  There  was  no  sleep. 
There  was  no  hope  except  of  a  death  fit  for  the  son 
of  warriors.  I  had  earned  the  fighter's  death.  Surely 
I  deserved  the  death  of  a  chief.  But  I  have  been 
betrayed. 

"I  have  no  pride  left  except  that  I  am  guilty  of 
this  charge.  Not  innocent,  not  a  cc/ward,  but  one  who 
has  earned  a  great  death.  If  I  were  innocent,  I 
should  deserve  hanging,  or  slavery  in  a  prison.  I  do 
not  plead  to  women  or  children  but  surely  to  men, 
brave  with  the  natural  valor  which  comes  to  us  from 
Heaven,  tareful  of  honor.  So  I  pray  you  take  me 
out  into  the  sunshine,  and  pay  me  the  death  I  earn- 
ed, the  death  you  owe  me,  with  rifles. 


,       INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  383 

"See"— his  voice  wa«  a  mere  whisper  now — "the 
rain  has  stopped,  the  shadow  of  the  rain  has  passed, 
the  Sun  God  lights  the  rain-drops,  even  the  dirty  lit- 
tle rain-drops  along  the  window-frame.  Dirty  they 
are,  and  yet  they  shine  like  stars;  small  they  are,  yet 
big  enough  to  reflect  the  figures  and  glory  of  their 
God,  who  made  them  in  His  image.  The  Sun-heat 
will  dry  them  up,  so  that  their  bodies  die,  and  yet 
their  spirits  rise  into  the  heavens. 

"I  am  no  more  than  that,  I  am  no  less — a  thing 
from  Heaven,  stained  and  shamed  with  dirt  in  this 
wu  Id,  and  yet  reflecting  God,  who  burns  my  body  to 
call  my  spirit  up,  cleansed,  freed,  eternal." 

The  prisoner's  face  was  changed.  He  seemed  re- 
mote from  our  world,  withdrawn  to  a  great  distance, 
looking  down,  his  smile  a  benediction. 

"Poor  little  laws !"  he  said,  ever  so  gently,  "ivien 
in  earnest,  groping  through  the  dark  in  search  of 
right  and  truth,  children  playing  at  'Let's  pretend  to 
be  God.'  Play  on  at  your  game,  your  tiresome  game, 
in  your  stuffy,  dirty  court  room,  with  your  old 
worn-out  rules.  But  let  me  go,  for  I  am  weary  of 
this  mock  trial,  in  a  sham  court,  where  little  children 
play  at  make-believe.  I  go  to  take  my  trial  at  the 
Court  of  God,  whose  law  is  truth.  You  have  noth- 
ing but  death  to  give.    He  gives  life." 


i 


1 


384  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Then  there  was  silence,  broken  presently  by  an 
emotional  juror,  who  sobbed,  and  tried  to  make  be- 
lieve he  had  a  cough. 

The  counsel  for  the  Crown  had  prepared  a  very 
fine  speech  which  he  must  needs  deliver.  It  was  all 
about  a  most  murderous  and  ferocious  redskin  des- 
perado, committing  a  series  of  despicable  and  cow- 
ardly outrages,  at  wanton  random  of  the  homicidal 
maniac,  guided  only  by  the  low  cunning  of  a  sav- 
age. Then  we  found  that  this  very  bad  man  was  the 
prisoner,  and  ripyles  of  merriment  broke  into  open 
laughter. 

I  will  not  quote  my  speech  for  the  defense,  but 
merely  cite  the  points  which  made  it  hopeless. 

There  was,  for  example,  a  strong  contention  with- 
in my  reach  that  by  the  most  ancient  and  fundamen- 
tal principles  of  justice  a  prisoner  has  the  right  of 
trial  before  a  jury  of  his  peers.  Yet  my  client  was 
arraigned  for  felony  before  a  panel  to  all  intents  of 
his  enemies,  against  whom  he  had  levied  war,  men 
biased  by  race  prejudice  before  they  entered  court. 
My  junior  warned  me,  however,  that  it  is  not  tactful 
to  impugn  the  jury;  and  British  practise,  unlike  the 
American,  does  not  allow  the  defense  to  challenge 
any  juror  who  has  read  the  public  press. 

My  defense  was  limited  then  to  arguments  which 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  385 

the  judge  derided  afterward  as  those  of  a  senti- 
mentalist attempting  to  interpret  murder  as  virtuous 
conduct.  As  long  as  I  defended  the  slayer  of  Red 
Saunders  I  had  the  jurors  with  me;  even  the  shoot- 
ing of  the  Indian  agent  might  be  condoned  as  an  act 
of  natural  wrath  provoked  to  the  degree  of  actual 
madness;  but  when  I  came  to  the  killing  of  Sarde, 
the  whole  court  turned  against  me  with  a  disdain 
which  chilled  me,  silenced  me.  Myself  one  of  the 
sworn  constabulary,  Sarde's  brother  officer  and  a 
justice  of  the  peace,  how  could  I  defend  what 
seemed,  by  all  the  evidence  produced,  his  ruthless 
murder,  deliberate,  unprovoked?  The  real  facts  of 
the  Sarde-la  Mancha  duel,  begun  in  former  years 
and  now  completed,  I  was  barred  from  telling,  and 
in  default  of  that  excuse  the  crime  seemed  mon- 
strous. 

My  plea  was  therefore  based  on  the  apparent  con- 
fusion which  brought  a  stone  age  savage  before  a 
civilized  court,  to  be  judged,  not  as  he  should  be,  by 
the  sanctions  and  usages  of  savagery,  but  by  the 
customs  of  a  strange,  a  mysterious,  an  invading  and 
hostile  people.  What  chance  would  one  of  us  have, 
tried  by  the  unknown  customs  of  the  heavenly  host 
before  a  court  of  angels  ?   The  jurors  laughed  at  me. 

So,  with  a  stinging  self-contempt  I  sat  down,  a 


386  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

total  failure,  knowing  that  the  uttermost  endeavors 
of  my  friendship  had  brought  my  friend  just  one 
step  nearer  to  a  shameful  death. 

I  am  at  best  a  poor  interpreter  of  La  Mancha's  ac- 
tions. His  character  was  built  upon  a  scale  beyond 
my  measurements,  beyond,  I  think,  the  standards  by 
which  the  common  nm  of  men  must  estimate  af- 
fairs. There  are  hill  districts  of  India  where  a  re- 
spectable woman  must  keep  several  husbands;  of 
North  America  where  a  church  elder  may  have  sev- 
eral wives  without  affronting  his  neighbors;  of  the 
Appalachian  Mountains  where  a  man  who  shirks  the 
slayings  of  his  family  blood-feud  earns  the  contempt 
of  his  mother;  and  the  world  has  never  seen  such 
ferocious  dueling  to  the  death  as  that  considered 
right  in  the  southwestern  states.  The  standards  of 
the  old  England  or  the  new  quite  fail  to  take  the 
measurements  of  even  our  fellow-citizens;  and  the 
whole  world's  moralities  are  local  to  times  and 
places,  not  pivots  on  which  the  planets  are  swung  by 
eternal  law. 

So  there  are  men  whose  lives  are  guided  by  sanc- 
tions of  a  conscience  above  the  plane  where  I  obey, 
who  are  the  clean,  effective  and  useful  instruments 
of  powers  far  beyond  my  understanding.  I  should 
need  to  be  Caesar  before  I  could  justly  wield  a  Ro- 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  387 

man  Empire,  levying  wars  to  purge  distracted  prov- 
inces, or  milling  nations  between  the  millstones  of  an 
over-crowded  peace. 

Perhaps  the  reader  knows  whether  my  friend  La 
Mancha  did  right  or  wrong.    I  don't. 

And  so  the  judge  summed  up : 

"I  am  here,"  he  said,  "gentlemen  of  the  jury,  as 
an  authority  on  the  common  la-w  and  an  impartial 
umpire  to  inst.  act  you  before  you  give  your  judg- 
ment. 

"The  prisoner's  friend  disclaimed  the  right  of  this 
court  to  deal  with  Indians  as  British  subjects.  I 
find  that  the  prisoner's  friend  has  misread  the  treaty 
made  by  Her  Majesty  with  the  Blackfoot  nation. 
This  man  is  subject  to  the  common  law. 

"He  was  brought  here  as  an  innocent  man, 
charged  with  capital  felony,  free  to  prove  his  inno- 
cence and  entitled  to  go  back  to  the  world,  with 
your  verdict  establishing  his  character  before  all 
mankind. 

"He  told  you  that  he  is  guilty.  You  have  heard 
the  overwhelming  evidence  of  the  facts  confessed. 
But  is  he  guilty?  Is  he  sane  and  responsible  for 
these  proven  felonies  ?  On  that  you  must  pass  your 
judgment  and  give  your  verdict.  He  confessed  him- 
self a  public  danger,  but  if  he  is  insane  the  public 


i  il 


388  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

must  be  guarded  while  he  remains,  during  the 
queen's  pleasure,  under  medical  treatruent. 

"The  defense  raises  a  second  question  equally 
grave.  It  is  an  axiom  that  ignoraiice  of  the  law  ex- 
cuseth  no  man;  but,  g^tlemen,  an  axiom,  like  a  dia- 
mond, may  be  hard,  impure  and  flawed.  How  can 
we  expect  this  savage  to  comprehend  our  statutes, 
obey  our  ordinances  and  enjoy  our  liberties?  And 
yet,  apart  altogether  from  the  customs  of  our  peo- 
ple expressed  in  common  law,  deep  down  at  the 
foundation  of  all  human  life,  is  that  instinctive  uni- 
versal wisdom  which  proclaims  that  for  the  common 
good  the  slayer  should  be  slain.  Even  the  plea  of 
native  red  Indian  custom  condemns  this  man,  sur- 
rendered by  his  tribesmen  to  our  justice. 

"Next,  we  have  to  consider  an  appeal  to  something 
in  us  all  more  potent  than  our  reason,  a  trait  of  man 
not  human  but  divine,  our  sense  of  pity.  You  have, 
no  doubt,  been  moved,  as  I  was,  swayed  out  of  all 
reason,  by  the  prisoner's  fine  sincerty,  his  perfect 
manliness,  his  unusual  argument,  the  purity  of  his 
thought,  the  rare  beauty  of  its  expression.  This 
man  is  not,  as  the  Crov/n  pleads,  brutal  or  depraved, 
but,  as  our  hearts  claim,  noble.  We  have  to  deal, 
not  with  a  common  felon  convicted  of  mere  out- 
rage, but  with  a  man,  moved  by  barb-»nc  warrior 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  389 


motives  to  acts  of  war  against  us.  My  impulse,  and 
yours,  if  I  read  you  rightly,  is  to  pardon. 

"Yet  pardon,  in  such  a  case  as  this,  would  gratify 
sentiment  at  the  cost  of  a  solemn  duty  to  the  state. 
As  citizens,  we  may  not  expose  our  fellow-citizens 
to  the  free  activities  of  native  gentlemen  with  a  taste 
for  collecting  scalps.  The  prisoner  belongs  to  the 
fiercest  tribe  of  savages  in  the  Americas,  if  not  in 
the  world,  and  they  must  not  be  encouraged  to  hope 
that  we  are  sentimentalists  to  be  killed  and  scalped 
by  Blackfoot  connoisseurs.  For  the  sake  of  your 
women  and  children,  you  must  do  your  duty. 

"And  it  is  not  for  pardon  that  this  plea  is  made. 
The  prisoner  dreads  the  slavery  of  imprisonment 
more  than  he  fears  the  gallows.  His  only  claim  is 
the  solemn  demand  for  a  death  of  honor.  This,  gen- 
tlemen, I  am  sure  we  would  all  be  glad  to  grant  if  it 
were  only  possible.  But  I  fear  that  death  by  fusil- 
lade is  a  grace  beyond  the  powers  of  this  court,  be- 
yond the  authority  of  government,  and  possible  only 
by  a  special  act  of  the  Dominion  parliament.  Here 
again  sentiment  beats  in  vain  against  high  walls  of 
reason.  I  can  only  warn  you  that  in  practise  your 
recommendation  to  mercy  involves  for  the  prisoner 
that  which  he  mo-st  dreads — imprisonment  for  life. 

"To  sum  up :  the  prisoner  is  liable    nder  the  law. 


390  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

he  is  guilty  of  capital  felony,  and  the  sole  point  left 
open  to  your  judgment  is  whether  he  must  be  held 
responsible  for  his  actions.  If  you  find  him  sane, 
you  have  only  one  verdict — ^guilty." 

The  case  was  so  clear  that  the  jury  did  not  retire, 
but,  after  a  brief  consultation,  gave  their  verdict, 
"The  prisoner  is  guilty." 

Strongly  moved,  visibly  reluctant,  the  judge  told 
me  to  ask  the  prisoner  if  he  had  any  reason  to  offer 
why  sentence  should  not  be  pronounced. 

I  asked  leave  to  explain  in  Blackfoot  to  the  pris- 
oner all  that  had  transpired.  I  had  leave.  But  now 
I  had  not  the  heart  to  repeat  what  my  friend  knew 
to  the  uttermost.  I  dared  not  whisper  in  English, 
words  failed  me  in  Blackfoot.  All  I  could  say  was, 
"Be  brave,  be  strong."  Then  I  broke  down  and 
La  Mancha  laughed  at  me.  His  soft,  low,  rippling 
laughter  startled  the  silent  court  Then  he  said  out 
loud  in  Blackfoot : 

"Poor  old  chap  I  I'll  have  to  help  you  out  some- 
how. You've  got  to  pretend  to  tell  me  something. 
Say  the  Lord's  Prayer." 

And  so  we  prayed  together  in  Blackfoot,  while  I 
could  scarcely  speak  for  tears,  or  he  for  laughter, 
I  in  my  cowardice,  he  in  the  greatness  of  his  valor. 

"Our  Father,"  I  muttered. 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  39I 

"Which  art  in  Heaven,"  he  laughed;  and  so,  with 
alternate  phrases,  while  the  crowd  waited  in  awful 
silence.    And  then  I  said  the  Gloria. 

"Glory  be  to  God  on  high,  and  on  earth  peace, 
good-will  toward  men.  We  praise  Thee,  we  bless 
Thee,  we  worship  Thee,  we  give  thanks  to  Thee  for 
Thy  great  Glory,  O  Lord  God.  .  .  .  Have 
mercy  upon  us  .  .  .  for  Thou  only  art  holy. 
.     .     .    Thou  only,  O  Christ.     ..." 

I  had  my  courage,  and  stood  back,  telling  the 
judge  to  go  on,  for  the  prisoner  was  ready. 

"Convey  these  words,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  quiv- 
ered.   "The  prisoner  will  stand." 

"He  shall  not  stand,"  I  said.    "He  can  not  stand." 

"Prisoner,"  I  repeated  the  words  in  Blackfoot, 
"you  will  be  taken  back  to  the  place  from  which  you 
have  come,  and  there  you  will  be  hanged  by  the  neck 
until  you  are  dead.  And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  your  soul." 

Then  I  heard  the  prisoner  whispering  in  Latin : 

"Into  Thy  hands,  O  Lord,  into  Thy  hands  I" 


On  the  morning  after  his  trial  the  prisoner  sent 
for  a  priest,  who  confessed  and  shrived  him,  taking 


392  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

his  word  that  he  would  not  again  make  any  attempt 
at  suicide.  So  wc  were  able  to  release  him  from  the 
shackles  that  chained  his  wrists  and  ankles  to  the 
floor,  and  to  give  him  the  liberty  of  the  cell.  I  sent 
in  furniture,  and  arranged  for  food  from  the  offi- 
cers' mess — eccentric  conduct,  confirming  the  gen- 
eral idea  that  I  was  cracked. 

As  long  as  there  was  something  to  be  done,  I  had 
not  time  to  worry,  and  the  time  we  have  for  worry- 
ing is  the  greatest  curse  we  know  in  our  little  lives. 
My  friend  sent  his  priest  to  tell  me  that  he  had  con- 
fessed, so  with  the  holy  father  I  had  no  need  for 
further  secrecy.  Sharing  a  secret  takes  ;:way  half 
the  strain. 

And  at  this  time  I  shared  no  secrets  with  Brat. 
He  went  his  own  dour  way  and  I  went  mine,  be- 
cause we  dared  not  be  seen  in  conference.  After 
the  trial  he  went  on  furlough,  by  doctor's  orders,  re- 
turning on  the  eve  of  the  execution  completely  re- 
stored to  health. 

Sam  twitted  me  in  his  nice  way  for  my  sentimen- 
tal conduct,  hinting  at  duties  apart  from  those  which 
needed  a  cap  and  apron.  He  visited  the  prisoner 
himself,  talking  in  the  sign  language,  telling  stories 
of  Sitting  Bull,  Spotted  Tail,  Crowfoot  and  other 
mighty  chiefs  he  had  known  in  the  early  days.  My 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  393 

officer  commanding  was  a  great  gossip,  a  great  dis- 
ciplinarian, soldier,  magistrate,  administrator,  ty- 
rant, friend — nothing  by  halves.  He  called  me  a  fool 
for  being  sentimental,  and  furtively  smuggled  bottles 
of  port  to  the  cell  by  way  of  a  tonic,  to  give  his  pris- 
oner strength  for  the  coming  ordeal.  Then  he 
chaffed  me,  and  his  tongue  raised  blisters. 

"Buckie,"  he  said  once,  "do  you  remember  a 
young  chap  we  called  the  Blackguard? — La  Man- 
cha's  brother.  He  was  killed  arguing  with  a  horse. 
This  Charging  Buffalo  reminds  of  him  somehow. 
We'll  have  him  fat  before  we  kill  him,  Buckie." 

No  horse  or  man  ever  escaped  Sam's  memory. 

"Buckie,"  said  the  prisoner,  "I  don't  like  fooling 
Sam." 

"Trust  him  to  the  limits.  But  how  about  the 
Brat?  A  scandal  would  spoil  his  chance  of  being 
inspector?" 

"I  remember,  Buckie,  once,  when  he  was  a  very 
wee  brat,  he  woke  from  a  dream,  screeching  as  if 
there  were  no  hereafter.  'Oh,  Mummie,  Mummie !' 
he  sobbed,  'a  fox  haa  biten  off  my  tail,  and  a  slug- 
gard's in  my  bed!'  You  know,  he  wouldn't  make  a 
good  inspector." 

"Don't  spoil  his  chance." 

"Well,  perhaps  not."    Then,  with  a  whimiical 


\ 


394  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

ligh,  "You  see,  I've  lost  even  my  taste  for  scandals." 

The  condemned  cell  had  become  for  me  the  one 
place  free  from  worries,  for  in  my  dear  friead's 
presence  I  felt  as  though  I  had  followed  him  into 
rest  Sadness  made  him  laugh,  and  laughter  jarred 
him.  All  who  came  near  him  were  hushed,  as  in 
the  presence  of  death,  and  we  seemed  transparent 
to  his  eyes,  which  were  lost  in  impenetrable  shadows. 
He  was  no  longer  habitant  of  this  earth,  but  lived 
among  things  invisi)>le.  He  told  me  that  Rain  was 
always  at  his  side,  that  she  would  stroke  his  hair 
and  give  delicious  mimicry  of  my  voice  and  manner. 
"I  begin  to  see,"  he  said,  "through  veils  which  grow 
thin  toward  the  light. 

"You  know,  Buckie,  that  when  a  gun  is  fired,  or 
lightning  flashes  miles  and  miles  away,  you  wait 
and  count  the  seconds  until  you  hear  the  crash. 
There's  not  really  an  instant  between  flash  and  bang, 
but  we  have  an  illusion  which  we  call  time.  It  does 
not  exist.  Time's  only  a  thing  we  imagine:  the 
pause  between  flash  and  bang." 

"The  flash  and  bang  of  what?" 

"Suppose  it  is  a  word,  proceeding  out  of  the 
mouth  of  God,  which  bids  your  soul  to  serve.  Be- 
tween the  blaze  and  the  report  you  enter  time,  bom. 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  395 

living,  gone,  and  all  the  long  revolving  years  be- 
tween of  happiness  and  sorrow,  sin  and  penance,  the 
passions,  loves,  ambitions,  triumphs,  failures,  from 
birth  to  death  exist  within  this  instant  we  call  a 
human  life.  We  are  like  falling  stars,  the  meteor 
stones  which  rush  through  the  eternities  of  space 
unseen,  unknown,  save  for  the  moment's  blazing 
transit  of  earth's  atmosphere.  But  we  are  spirits 
lit  by  a  word  of  God." 

"Burned  I" 

"Yes.  Dirt  and  water  will  make  your  mud,  but  it 
takes  heat  and  pressure  to  turn  common  stuff  to 
gems,  burning  for  stars,  torture  to  create  poor  crea- 
tures like  ourselves  into  immortal  spirits,  and  God 
alone  knows  what  terrific  ordeal  exalts  His  angels 
until  they  can  exist  triumphant  in  His  presence.  I 
am  ready,  waiting,  impatient,  filled  with  ambitions 
I  hardly  dare  to  think  of.    The  light  is  blinding." 

"Aren't  you  afraid?" 

"Awed,  rather.  I  shall  leave  fear  behind  me.  The 
blind  are  made  to  see,  the  dead  are  raised,  we  poo- 
have  the  Gospel  preach<;d  to  us.  Blessed  arc  the 
blind,  the  poor,  the  dead,  for  even  in  Christ  shall  all 
be  made  alive,  and  death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory." 

So,  rapt  in  contemplation,  this  dying  felon  sav/ 


396  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

not  the  walls  which  imprisoned  his  body,  but  viL:ons 
of  immeasurable  grandeur  through  the  wide  gates 
of  ''••th. 


VI 


It  would  be  morbid  to  dwell  in  detail  on  the  last 
days,  when  many  Indians  were  permitted  to  see  the 
prisoner,  when  the  men  of  D  Troop  who  had  hunted 
him  to  this  death  shook  hands  at  parting,  when  the 
priest  and  I  by  turns  sat  with  him  while  through  the 
long  hours  we  could  hear  the  hammers  at  work  upon 
the  scaffold  across  our  barrack  square.  At  the  very 
end  of  that,  in  the  dusk,  when  our  time  came  to  part, 
I  knelt  to  receive  his  blessing.  Afterward,  I  sent 
my  servant  for  Black  Prince,  and  being  off  duty, 
spei't  most  of  the  night  out  on  the  plains,  where  I 
could  be  alone.  The  stars  were  very  bright,  and  on 
the  uplands  a  touch  of  summer  frost  turned  ail  the 
grass  to  silver.  So  the  dawn  broke,  and  far  away  I 
heard  reveille  sound,  like  a  great  throbbing  prayer 
cleaving  the  skies. 

The  whole  Blood  and  North  Piegan  tribes  had 
been  assembled  to  witness  the  public  execution 
of  the  Indian  who  had  dared  to  levy  war  against 
'fmr  empire.    The  chiefs  and  medicine  men  of  the 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  397 


South  PiegMM,  stanch  friends  of  Charging  Buffalo 
as  the  adopted  son  of  Medicine  Robe,  had  come 
across  from  Montana  to  see  his  passing.  Even  some 
of  the  North  Blackfeet  and  the  Stonies  had  trav- 
eled the  hundred  miles  or  so  from  their  reserves. 
All  had  pitched  their  teepees  on  the  banks  of  Old 
Man's  River,  and  in  the  daybreak  I  rode  homeward 
through  a  camp  of  the  Blackfoot  nation  worthy  of 
earlier  times. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  I  reached  my  quar- 
ters, with  time  for  a  bath  and  coffee.  Fear  of  pos- 
sible excitement  among  the  Blackfeet  had  made  it 
necessary  to  rally  our  men  from  the  detachments, 
and  muster  a  general  parade  of  the  division  to  hold 
the  barrack  square  and  guard  the  scaffold.  7  went 
on  duty,  took  the  parade  and  reported  to  the  officer 
commanding. 

The  prisoner,  thanks  to  very  careful  nursing,  had 
been  well  enough  these  last  few  days  to  walk,  taking 
even  a  little  exercise,  although  he  had  not  strength 
to  stand  at  his  full  height.  He  was  bent  like  an  old 
man,  and  when  he  left  his  cell  would  wrap  himself 
in  his  large  blanket,  which  formed  a  sort  of  cowl 
hilling  his  face.  Civilians  would  come  and  stare, 
and  he  resented  that. 

Now,  leaning  on  the  priest's  arm,  he  came  out 


398  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

from  the  guard-house,  attended  '7  the  guard,  who 
fornied  up  round  one  of  our  transport  wagons  which 
stood  in  waiting.  At  my  request,  a  pair  of  steps 
had  been  placed  as  a  mounting-block,  from  which, 
with  the  priest,  he  entered  at  the  tail  of  the  wagon. 
The  teamster  was  my  junior  counsel,  and  in  the  off 
man's  place  sat  the  fellow  chosen  as  hangman,  wear- 
ing civilian  clothes  and  a  silk  mask. 

As  the  team  started  at  a  slow  walk,  the  prisoner 
commenced  to  sing  his  death-song  after  the  Indian 
usage,  but  the  priest,  as  I  learned  afterward,  asked 
him  to  stop,  saying  that  the  Blackfeet  would  under- 
stand, but  white  men  would  think  him  afraid.  In  a 
dead  silence  the  wagon  crossed  the  parade  ground 
and  backed  to  the  scaffold,  which  was  level  with  its 
bed.  Then  the  priest  lifted  the  prisoner,  supporting 
him  until  they  came  under  the  gallows.  The  hang- 
man joined  them,  carrying  the  white  cap  which  was 
to  be  drawn  over  the  prisoner's  head,  hiding  his  face. 

I  remember  steeling  myself  to  see  the  common- 
place details,  and  to  see  nothing  else,  to  think  of 
nothing  else.  A  night  of  preparation  had  strength- 
ened me  to  face  as  best  I  could  the  public  and  shame- 
ful death  of  the  one  man  on  earth  I  loved.  Even 
now  I  could  not  bear  to  lock  toward  that  group  on 
the  scaffold,  but  turned  about,  surveymg  the  hollow 


INSPECTOR  BUCKIE'S  NARRATIVE  399 

square  of  our  parade  formation,  the  dense  mass  of 
Indians  surrounding  the  barT:,;V  fence,  the  crowd 
of  white  men.  Then  I  he  .rd  a  suilder  tremendous 
gasp  of  amazement,  of  ge.  erul  consteriation,  and  a 
single  triumphant  voice  rang  oui  h^vn  the  scaffold. 

I  turned,  could  not  believe  my  eyes,  stared  won- 
der-struck; then  ran  as  hard  as  I  could  pelt  toward 
the  platform. 

The  prisoner,  with  one  great  sweeping  gesture, 
rose  to  his  full  height,  lifting  the  blanket  apart  until 
he  held  it  behind  him  with  widely  outstretched  arms, 
disclosing  the  scarlet  tunic,  breeches  and  gleaming 
boots,  the  four  gold  chevrons  on  his  forearms  of  a 
staff-sergeant.  The  blanket  dropped;  he  snatched 
away  the  long  gray  braids  of  hair,  and  cast  at  his 
feet  a  wig.  There,  with  his  curly  raven-black  hair, 
his  laughing  eyes  and  milk-white  teeth,  in  the  prime 
of  radiant  health,  laughing  hysterically,  was  Brat 
laManchal 

"Drugged!"  he  yelled.  "He  wouldn't  go,  but  I 
drugged  him.  He's  escaped!  He's  in  Montana  by 
nowl" 

Sam  had  leaped  on  the  scaffold  before  I  got  there, 
and  never  have  I  seen  a  man  in  such  a  blazing  rage 
as  my  commanding  officer  was  then.  "What  does 
this  mean?"  he  asked  through  his  teetH. 


400  THE  CHEERFUL  BLACKGUARD 

Brat  stood  to  attention,  beaming  with  an  out- 
rageous benevolence.  "It  means,  sir,"  he  answered 
joyfully,  "that  the  prisoner  was  my  brother." 

"Your  brother!" 

"Yes,  sir;  Ex-constable  Jos6  de  la  Mancha,  my 
brother,  who  changed  places  once  with  me  when  I 
was  a  prisoner.    It's  my  turn  now,  sir.  Hang  me  I" 

"By  the  Lord  God!" 

"To  Him,  sir,"  answered  Don  PedrO  haughtily, 
"you  will  leave  my,brother.  I  am  your  prisoner." 


THE   END 


